


The Coda Series

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-01
Updated: 2009-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 57
Words: 118,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One possible version of the lads' story as seen in codas to all 57 episodes, in transmission order. Each coda follows closely on the episode. It really helps to watch the episodes before reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coda to Private Madness, Public Danger

**Author's Note:**

> _Special thanks to EOS and O Anonymous One for beta reading, hand holding, and patience. Thank you to "Betty" for the pinch-hit for "Hijack". And thank you to all the wonderful Pros fans on LJ who commented and inspired and generally kept me going through this insane project. Cheers. ___

Doyle was frowning as he tied the laces of his shoe. Bodie watched him while he adjusted the fit of his shoulder holster. Doyle had been out of sorts since they’d met at Nesbitt’s. What had happened while they followed their separate leads? Doyle had told him the basics: Doyle’s mate from the Drugs Squad had led him to Sutton, and Doyle and Cowley had got Nesbitt’s name from Sutton. But something had rattled Doyle, and that was nagging at Bodie.

It shouldn’t matter. Doyle had been effective on the job—had been bloody brilliant recognising the clue from the water skis. But at Nesbitt’s, Doyle had greeted him with his professional persona in place—and Bodie was no longer used to being on the receiving end of that cool mask.

“Fancy a go at the target range? The obstacle one.” When Doyle raised his head and looked at him, it was like stepping into the past. What had made Doyle so wary?

“You haven’t had enough excitement for the day?” Doyle straightened, and reached for his jacket.

“Twenty-four hour goer, mate, that’s me.” He shrugged. “We should’ve been able to stop Nesbitt. Our timing was off.”

To anyone else, Doyle’s face would have appeared calm, but Bodie saw the sudden tension. “Yeah. My fault.”

“No, we were both off. But you were reckless.” Doyle had moved on Nesbitt before Bodie could give him adequate cover.

He was glad to see a sudden flare of temper in Doyle’s eyes. He'd found irritation worked as well as humour in deflecting Doyle’s tendency towards self-absorption. That was one reason why he'd had his hands all over Doyle at both Nesbitt’s and the reservoir. Resigned exasperation had replaced Doyle's brittle look then, but now it was back. “Oh, and you’ve never—”

“Each and every one of my actions is carefully thought out.” Bodie kept his face straight.

“You—” Doyle swallowed his words, and then he broke up into laughter. “Bastard.”

He grinned. “I’m not—although I might as well have been.” He moved forward, swung an arm around Doyle’s shoulders. “What’s up, mate, eh?” He felt Doyle twitch, and dropped his arm. “Seriously, Ray.”

“It’s—nothing.” Doyle turned away.

“Nerves?”

Doyle glanced at him. “That's what Cowley thought at the reservoir."

"That water was damn cold. Cowley also said well done—despite us disobeying orders and you rubbing it in when you brought Nesbitt to him." Bodie smiled, but he caught a fleeting expression on Doyle’s face that made his stomach tighten. Whatever it was eating at Doyle, it had to do with Cowley. He looked away for a moment. “Bothers you, does it?”

“What?”

“That Cowley kept second-guessing us—not going with our hunches.”

“Well, we were right.” Doyle’s voice was forceful, but not angry.

“It takes time to develop that kind of trust. Time and experience.”

"Proving ourselves, you mean."

"Yeah."

“Like you trusting in police methods?”

Bodie rolled his eyes. “Yes, mate. Or you seeing the value of military training.”

Doyle tilted his head. "Well, it’s not everyone I’d jump in a reservoir with to defuse a bomb.”

“And I did get Susan Fenton’s address before you asked."

Doyle smiled. “You got more than that. Won her over, didn’t you?"

“Ah, natural charm,”

“Natural gullibility.”

“I am wounded by your lack of faith. Anyway, she felt guilty.”

Doyle's smile died. “Yeah, well, she should.”

“She didn’t know what Nesbitt planned to do.”

“All she cared about was her next fix.”

Bodie raised his eyes at the edge in Doyle’s voice. “Addiction. Robs you of everything, doesn’t it? She didn’t set out to become an addict.”

Doyle turned away, and dropped his jacket on the bench. "None of them do. It’s the dealers that—” He fell silent.

Bodie studied Doyle’s back. The shoulder harness cut across the pattern in Doyle's shirt. “How did you get Sutton to talk?” And he saw the quiver of tightening muscles. “Yeah, that's it. Sutton. You might as well tell me, Ray.”

“Leave off, Bodie.”

“Look, I need to know you’re one hundred percent on the job. In a two-man team you haven’t got the lux—”

Doyle rounded on him. “Sod off. I was there for the job, just as much as you.”

“Yeah—this time. But if something’s festering—”

“It won’t.” Doyle was hard-eyed, his voice cold.

Bodie met Doyle’s stare, and then he raised a hand. “Okay.” He turned away to pick up his jacket, aware that he’d blown it. It wasn’t the job he was concerned about. It had taken them the better part of six months to prove themselves to each other. He had no doubts about Doyle on the job, even if their methods varied. They seemed to balance each other there. But he still didn't really understand what made Doyle tick. Sometimes, the only way to calm him down was to leave him alone. He put his jacket on, not looking at Doyle.

He heard a sigh. “Cowley threatened to inject heroin into Sutton. Turn him into an addict.” Doyle’s voice was still hard.

“I see.”

“Yeah. I’ll bet you do.”

He wasn’t going to rise to that one, but it stung more than it should have. “Nesbitt would have released ADX, mate.”

Doyle looked away. “I know.”

“In a war—”

“I know! Dammit.” He drew in a breath. “Cowley told a fucking war story—setting the scene for Sutton.”

Bodie didn’t move. “And for you.”

“I played my part.”

“Very convincingly, I’m sure.” He met Doyle’s glare without flinching, just raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not naive.”

“No, but you’ve a bit of the idealist in you.”

“There’s a line.”

“Any means necessary is in the small print.”

Doyle scowled. “So it’s a bloody thin line.”

“Stubborn sort of idealist, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Doyle looked up at the ceiling. “Cowley wants to preserve us from all idealists.”

“Ah, but he hired you, didn’t he? Who's going to corrupt whom, that's the question."

A lighter expression flickered across Doyle’s face, and Bodie felt himself relax a notch. “Well, if it was a test, I passed. Sutton fell for the bluff.”

If it was a bluff. “There you go, then.”

Doyle looked at him, and there was no hiding from the truth in his eyes. “I’d’ve gone through with it.”

“I know.”

Doyle nodded, looked around, and picked up his jacket.

Bodie wanted to touch Doyle’s shoulder, but he didn’t. “The line’s important.” He’d crossed it too often himself. He'd thought Cowley might draw it again for him.

“Even if it festers?”

“It won’t.” He hesitated a moment. “We’ll watch each other’s back.” His stomach was suddenly tight. He knew what Doyle thought of his past.

Doyle met his gaze, wide-eyed, and Bodie didn't know what he was thinking. “Yeah. We will.” Doyle shrugged into his jacket.

Bodie turned quickly away. “So, do you fancy the practice—”

“Here you are. Bloody hell, you’re slow.” Biggs entered the locker room. “We’re going to the Red Lion to celebrate.”

Bodie felt a stab of disappointment, but ignored it. “Who’s buying?”

“You are,” Doyle said.

“What? Why me?”

“And I expect the finest, purest malt scotch.”

“Ah. Can I help it if you weren’t quick enough?”

“Yes, you can. You’re meant to help your partner, not steal his drink.”

“Just looking out for you—you’re more of a beer man.”

“I'll take two of the finest, purest—”

“Are we going to argue or get a move on?” Biggs pushed them towards the door. “I’m thirsty. The others are already on their way.”

“Only one round for us,” Doyle said as they walked down the hallway. “We’ve got plans.” Bodie looked round, and found Doyle watching him. "Haven't we?"

Something warm blossomed inside him. "Of course. Would I let you down?"

"Yes, on occasion. Remember those red-headed twins?"

Biggs rolled his eyes. “Trust you two. A double-date?”

“We never kiss and tell,” Bodie said.

“No, you kiss and hint.” Biggs’ voice was dry.

“We're honing your investigative instincts, you see.” Doyle said.

"Yes, where would Cowley be without us?" Bodie shook his head.

“Cheerier, I should imagine. In fact, before you two—"

"You joined after us, Biggs."

"Yes, but I've heard rumours." They reached the stairs leading to the main entrance. Biggs took the lead up the stairs.

"Lies, all of them." Bodie paused on the stairs and put on a bright tone. "You know, Doyle, we could skip the drink—”

“No.” Biggs and Doyle chorused—one in front and one behind him.

Bodie sighed.

"Move it." Doyle urged him up the stairs.

"Bugger."

"In your dreams, mate." Doyle gave him a sly grin as he passed him.

Bodie choked. "Against orders," he managed to say. "Downfall of the side."

"I _like_ the Dark Ages!" Doyle's voice wafted down to him.

Oh, hell.


	2. Coda to Female Factor

"Fuck." The word came out long after Doyle had sat on the low wall marking off the car park of the Five Ways. The sun was high in a cloudless sky, and there was no evidence remaining of the early morning rain that had awakened him. It was a lovely day for a walk, and he had been lured out of his flat to run errands. Several people had strolled by while he had been on the wall. None of them had seemed in a hurry—as if they were enjoying their freedom while others were at work. Doyle, too, had enjoyed his freedom—he was expected nowhere, and could structure his day as he pleased. Unfortunately, he was also unable to move from the wall, and he was still at least a half a mile from his flat. His leg ached and felt hot; his arms were shaky with fatigue, and chafed from the crutches. He had no R/T, and no one knew where he was. He ought to go into the pub, use the phone, and call Bodie. He'd been thinking about that for the better part of an hour.

_Ray? You all right?_

It was stupid. Who else would he call? Bodie would tease him, yes, but he would come, and he'd deal with the situation with cool efficiency. Doyle had come to in the car park where he'd been shot to find his leg propped on Bodie's shoulder, and Bodie doing his best to stop the bleeding.

 _Don't think this is going to get you out of doing your share of the paperwork. Careless bugger—don't you know better than to run into a bullet? Ray? Don't faint on me again, sunshine, I've got a lot more to say to you._

Bodie had visited him in hospital, had carted him home when he was released, had made sure he had fresh food in, and was planning on driving him to his physio appointments. And Doyle realised he was uneasy about it—not about what Bodie had done for him, but about the fact that he had expected no less from his partner.

Expect nothing; depend on no one. He had learned that lesson long ago. He preferred to work alone, but he hadn't been worried when Cowley had given them the lecture about two-man teams in CI5. He'd worked with Syd Parker. Okay, he'd known it would be different working with a man close to his own age, but Cowley had told them how it would be: equal rank; concentrate on the job. And then he'd been paired with an ex-SAS maniac who thought all coppers were bent and police methods useless. Bodie had made it clear he expected Doyle to follow his lead—Cowley's words or not. Doyle smiled a little, remembering how he had disabused Bodie of that notion. Bodie still had a tendency to try and manipulate him, but he no longer attempted to bark orders at him.

He lowered his head, frowning at a crack in the pavement. They'd worked out their differences—learned how to divide the work. Bodie deferred to Doyle on investigative techniques; Doyle deferred to Bodie on weapons, bombs, tactics, and other areas the army specialised in. They learned from each other—and were still learning. Cowley was satisfied with them, and tended to assign them the high priority ops. Their skills complemented each other, and they'd found a way to work smoothly together. Dammit, yes, he did expect a lot from Bodie, and depended on him. He trusted his back to Bodie without question. But this wasn't the job, was it?

Doyle shifted, and winced as his bloody leg complained. This was the first serious injury for either of them since they'd been teamed. They had no pattern of behaviour or expectation. What if it had been Bodie shot by Terkoff? Doyle would have done what he could at the scene; he would have visited Bodie in hospital. Hell, he'd have done the same as Bodie had done. Except Bodie would have had one of his birds in to cater to him, Doyle was certain. He'd thought about calling Alison, but he hadn't wanted anyone around when he was in pain. He hadn't minded Bodie, though, had he?

"Do you want a lift?"

Doyle looked up, startled to hear the familiar voice. Bodie's car was stopped on the street in front of him. Fuck. The relief that washed through him made him more irritable. "It took you long enough."

Bodie just grinned. "Yeah, have to work on my mind reading skills. Come on, then."

Doyle closed his eyes for a moment, let out a sigh, and eased from the wall. He made his way slowly to the car. Bodie didn't offer to help him, and didn't say anything as Doyle settled carefully into the passenger seat. "Thanks."

"What were you out here for, anyway?" Bodie pulled away from the kerb.

"Post office." He looked out the window.

"Feeling cooped up, were you?"

"Something like that." He looked at Bodie. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at work."

Bodie looked gloomy. "Obbo duty tonight."

"Oh, no. Solo?"

"Yeah. Turns out that's what Cowley does to agents who have been careless enough to let their partners be injured."

"I see. All your fault, then."

"Apparently." Bodie turned into the courtyard before Doyle's flat.

"Well, I'll be there with you in spirit."

"I'm calling you at three in the morning to keep me awake." Bodie parked the car in front of Doyle's garage.

"That's what coffee's for."

"Coffee's not nearly as stimulating, petal." Bodie batted his eyelashes at him.

Doyle grinned and extracted himself from the car. "Coming in?" He organised his crutches and moved towards the door leading to his flat.

"Yeah, might as well." Bodie opened the door for him after Doyle unlocked it.

Doyle looked up the sharply rising stairs, and his heart sank. "Go on and put the tea on. Just don't eat everything before I get there!"

"Would I do that?" Bodie put his arm around Doyle, and propped his shoulder under Doyle's left arm. "Up we go."

"Bodie."

"Faster with two. I'm hungry, Ray."

"You're always hungry." But Doyle let himself be manhandled up the stairs, and shortly found himself in his flat, on his sofa, waiting for tea. He should have gone to the kitchen to take care of things himself. He stayed where he was. Bodie was a puzzle—he'd get right up Doyle's nose one moment, and the next.... Doyle shook his head. Bodie had been dismissive of Ann, and discouraging about Doyle following the case. But Bodie had gone right along with him; Bodie had stood up to Cowley for him. It had been Bodie who'd got them over to his old flat in the first place. It was hard not to take Bodie for granted—and dangerous folly to do so.

"Do you need pills? How much damage did you do?" Bodie brought a tray from the kitchen with tea pot, mugs, sugar, milk, and biscuits. He set in on the low table in front of the sofa.

"More to my pride than anything else." His leg was calming down, although he didn't fancy using the crutches for a while. He poured tea into a mug, then added sugar. He deserved sugar. "Stupid to have pushed it, I suppose."

Bodie shrugged. He'd settled onto the sofa beside Doyle. "You always do. Push it, I mean."

"Do I?" Doyle opened his eyes very wide.

Bodie smiled. "Yes, mate. Just as you're not very good at following orders without question." Bodie poured milk into his tea. "For which, admittedly, I have cause to be grateful."

 _Stay outside, Doyle_ , Bodie had barked at him when they'd gone after Bergen. Doyle hadn't stayed outside. And then he'd saved Bodie's life—as he hadn't saved Syd's. It had been the start of their real partnership. He looked at Bodie sideways. "I follow sensible orders."

Bodie sighed. "You'd never make it in the military." He took a biscuit.

"Well, thank God for that."

"They wouldn't have you."

"Who would when I'm like this?" He frowned at his leg.

"Six weeks, and you'll be fine. Treat it like a holiday." 

"With you getting into God knows what kind of trouble?" He said it like a joke, but he recognised the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Bodie grinned. "I told you I'm on obbo duties. Dead boring, that is." Bodie leaned forward to put his mug down, and stayed in that position, arms on his knees. "I didn't like seeing you go down." Bodie's eyes were on the table.

"You came in time to get Terkoff. You saved the girl."

"Yeah." 

His eyes dwelt on Bodie's profile, but he could read nothing of Bodie's thoughts. "Partnership is about responsibility. It's why I didn't stay outside on the Bergen op, you know."

Bodie looked round at him. "Ah. So stubbornness and irritation played no role in your decision, is that it?"

"Well, I do remember a strong desire to shoot you myself. I just wasn't going to let anyone else do it."

"Oh, ta."

"You are my partner—for better or worse."

"Don't get carried away, mate." Bodie leaned back against the sofa. "Anyway, Cowley was happy enough with us this time."

"Once he found the Prime Minister's number at Ann's flat."

"I can't believe you tried to quote the small print to him."

"I was...irritated."

Bodie rolled his eyes. "How did you survive on the force?"

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "I was good. But, funny thing, I did get moved around a lot."

Bodie shook his head, then he put his mug down and patted Doyle on his thigh. "Come on. We have to go." He stood up.

Doyle didn't move. "Go where?"

"Trust me." Bodie took Doyle's mug away from him and put it on the table.

"The last time you said that—"

"Forget that time. Anyway, I made up for it with our dates for the old man's speech, right?"

Doyle nodded. "Yes, yes you did. Except—" He turned a glare on Bodie. "What did you say to them the other morning? Because when I rang—"

Bodie winced. "You didn't?"

"I thought the evening had gone quite well."

"Yes, but they didn't like being deserted. And I had to come up with a reasonable explanation.…" Bodie backed away from the sofa.

"Bodie." Doyle climbed to his feet.

"Never mind, Ray. Plenty of other fish in the sea. Anyway, this has nothing to do with birds."

Doyle eyed him, but followed the diversion. "What is it about, then?" He reluctantly took up the crutches and moved away from the sofa. He looked up when Bodie said nothing, and caught him staring at him. "What?" He made his voice sharp.

Bodie glanced away. "They put Ann Seaford's headstone in place today. I thought you might want to see it."

"Head— How?" Ann hadn't owned her house, or her clothes, or her car. The little she had would go to Sara. 

"Cowley."

Doyle drew in a long breath, then let it out. Cowley. The man made you want to follow him. "Yeah. I'd like to see it. We can stop and get some flowers."

"Okay."

Doyle looked at Bodie—at this partner Cowley had tied him to. Bodie could drive him crazy faster than anyone he knew. He was confident to the point of arrogance. He could be intolerant, reckless, and bull-headed. He rarely walked away from a fight. He was too handsome for anyone's peace of mind—and was as successful with women as he claimed to be. But Bodie was also loyal, steady, and very, very good at the job. Bodie could make him laugh when there was no humour to be found. And Bodie had made sure Doyle's flat was ready when he'd come home from hospital. Doyle didn't like to give out his address, much less a key to his flat, but Bodie had made it seem natural. "Dinner before the obbo? My treat."

Bodie looked pleased, but slightly suspicious. "What's the catch?"

"What makes you think there's a catch?" Doyle made his way towards the door.

"What is it you keep telling me? Oh, yes: know thy subject."

"Ah, you learned something."

"Yes. So?" Bodie opened the door to the flat.

In truth, there was no catch. Doyle just smiled at him as he went through the doorway.

"I know I'm going to regret this." Bodie closed and locked the door. "All right. You're on." 

Doyle made his careful way down the stairs, with Bodie at his side.


	3. Coda to Old Dog with New Tricks

"Sir. The Home Secretary on line one."

"Thank you, Betty." Cowley took a moment to breathe in and out, then picked up the telephone. "Good evening, sir."

"George. I thought I'd thank you personally—since it was my person you apparently saved."

"We were doing our job, sir."

"Ah, but you manged to do it in a low key fashion, with no casualties, and—very important from my point of view—somehow without antagonising the other services."

"The police were very cooperative, if not pleased."

"Yes. And by all accounts, your man was firm and decisive, but not unduly heavy-handed."

"Doyle. He is a former police officer."

"And you impersonated me—at considerable risk to yourself."

"Och, they were never interested in murder. Turkel wanted his brother out of prison."

"It's a bad business when criminals employ the tactics of extremists."

"Aye. But we nipped it in the bud. There is no example to follow. Charles Turkel will join his brother in prison."

"How did you get Turkel to surrender without a fight?"

Cowley smiled. "An understanding of the criminal mind, sir. Turkel is no extremist. He had no cause, just a desire to free his brother. Once it was made clear to him that he had lost, he surrendered. Doyle held a gun to Henry Turkel's head. Bodie—another of my agents—was held hostage with me, but he escaped and freed the other hostages. Turkel had no cards left to play, so he folded."

"Bodie and Doyle. I've heard those names before."

"Yes, sir. One of my best teams.

"A former copper and...?"

"Bodie was with the SAS."

"How the devil do you do it, George? I can't get the heads of the various agencies to cooperate, much less their men."

"They are in CI5 now."

"That's too pat an answer."

"Think of the work they are called upon to do, sir. Dismantle a bomb, investigate a crime, rescue a hostage, provide security against an assassination attempt. They learn from each other. If they can't do that, they don't last long in CI5."

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "As you know, I have not always been a firm supporter of CI5. However, today you proved your assertion that a well-trained, highly mobile force can be most effective. If the police, or MI5 had found the same evidence you found.... Well, I would already have been a hostage before they would have acted."

"We have some advantages—including agents I can trust to think for themselves."

"Good men, yes. And yet I have rarely had a complaint that you have poached men from the other services. Where do you find them, George?"

"I am somewhat less interested in a man or woman who is already succeeding brilliantly in an organisation. A good copper makes a good copper. But take Doyle as an example. He demonstrated very good police work, has a first rate mind, and is fearless in pursuit of justice. Uncompromising integrity. Yet his career was stalled. He does far better in CI5, where rank has no meaning and my agents are free to pursue any leads they find."

"And the other one...Bodie?"

Cowley smiled. "You should ask Nairn about Bodie sometime. He's a highly skilled soldier, able to think on his feet under changing conditions—brilliant in action. But he's restless; prefers to move on after a couple of years. He needs a focus for his skills."

"And you provide him with that?"

"Aye, I believe I do."

"How is Bodie at criminal investigation?"

Cowley laughed. "He's learning. Perhaps not quite as quickly as Doyle learned to defuse bombs. They balance each other, however. The two together are better than either alone."

"Synergy."

"The secret to CI5's success."

"You have come a long way since that early debacle with Wakeman."

Cowley's hand tightened on the phone. "Yes, sir. I, too, learn from my mistakes."

"As should we all. Well, I'll add my personal thanks to you, George. You must have been tempted to let events take their course, given the last budget meeting."

Cowley laughed again. "I would rather debate with you than rescue you."

"I sincerely hope we have more of the former and none of the latter. I shall see you at tomorrow's meeting. Good night."

"Good night, sir." Cowley hung up the telephone, then leaned back in his chair. _You have come a long way since that early debacle with Wakeman_. He had learned his lesson. He had rebuilt CI5 after Wakeman had nearly destroyed it, and he had managed to hold on to his brief and his small print. He would not be caught out by an infiltrator again—he personally vetted every new member of CI5. He would keep his own doorstep clean.

Cowley shifted in his chair and winced at the stabbing pain in his leg. He would be forced into the surgery to remove the bullet sooner or later, but he'd put it off for as long as possible. CI5 would never survive without him at this stage in its development. He had created an organisation of disparate parts—an organisation that thrived on synergy, just as he'd told the HS. But just like nitroglycerine, it would explode if not handled carefully. One need only look at Tommy McKay to see that—or even Bodie and Doyle.

The reports of Doyle's supervisors had been consistent in only two details: the high quality of his work and his incorruptibility. Cowley had paid little attention to the claims of insubordination or lack of respect—Doyle's record spoke for itself. He had found a conversation with Maurice Richards particularly enlightening. "He proved the rule," Richards had told Cowley. "There's always one good copper." Doyle had helped Richards convict corrupt fellow officers. Richards' career had been destroyed in the process; Doyle had been transferred to Drugs—and he would never have risen above Detective Constable.

Doyle was an idealist, despite his outward show of cynicism. That was the source of his integrity, his stubborn determination on a case, and his open-minded approach. He questioned everything—not the least himself. If he believed in what he was doing, there was nothing he might not accomplish. But if he doubted the benefit of his actions, he could self-destruct. The trick was to slowly hone Doyle's idealism, meld it with pragmatism—and keep him from burning out too soon. That was one reason why he'd paired Doyle with Bodie.

Bodie's superiors had been consistent in all their reports. No one ever questioned Bodie's abilities or his fearlessness or his dedication to his current objective—even at the cost of his own life. They questioned his attitude, his humour, his lack of commitment. One supervisor questioned his sanity. Cowley had dug deeper into the records, and had sent an investigator to follow Bodie's trail in Africa and the Middle East. Personal loyalty was a strong motivating factor in Bodie's decisions. It ran the gamut from protectiveness towards comrades to joining CI5 because Cowley had won him over. He'd got Bodie in to CI5; he was counting on Doyle to keep him here.

The intercom buzzed. Cowley flipped the switch. "Yes?"

"4.5 and 3.7 are here, sir, with their reports. Do you wish to see them?"

Yes, send them in. Thank you, Betty."

They came into the office, two men who were very different in build and temperament. Bodie automatically adjusted his posture when he saw Cowley's eyes on him; Doyle went right to business.

"Our reports, sir." Doyle placed both reports on Cowley's desk. "Henry Turkel is back in prison; Charles Turkel and his men have been transferred to police custody. All the stolen weapons—minus one grenade—have been accounted for."

"Very well. This is now a police matter. Both of you did well today. I have just been on the phone with the Home Secretary, receiving his thanks."

"Or a man sounding like the Home Secretary," Bodie said. Doyle smiled.

"I should send the two of you to remedial training for not being able to describe him more accurately. But I am in a benevolent mood. Bodie, if you will do the honours?"

Bodie's face lit up, and he walked to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the office. He set out three glasses.

"Sir." Doyle looked at Cowley. "I'm wondering about Turkel's knowledge of the weapons heist in the first place. If word had been out on the street, we would have heard. But—"

"Yes. I plan to have a conversation with Mr Turkel."

"He'll try to bargain with you." Doyle accepted a glass of whisky from Bodie. "Ta."

"Thank you." Cowley accepted his own glass. "I'll bargain with Charlie—assuming the value of his information is worth it." He raised his glass. "To the benefit of a low profile."

"And the single-mindedness of the criminal mind." Doyle took a swallow of whisky. "Otherwise he might have rumbled you."

Bodie looked at him. "Don't overestimate Turkel's intelligence."

Doyle looked back. "He took care of the Irish lot in neat fashion. He knew exactly when to hit the police station and grab the HS. He knew the confusion he'd cause."

"He had no exit strategy."

"He gambled it all on one throw of the dice." Doyle tilted his head. "Sound familiar?"

Bodie rolled his eyes. "Yes, mate, but—"

"He might have succeeded in the initial confusion." Cowley looked from one to the other of his men. "Certainly lives would have been lost if we had not been there. Now, finish those drinks and get back to work."

"Yes, sir." Bodie drained his glass, placed it on the desk, and turned towards the door.

Doyle put his glass down as well, and moved after Bodie. He put a hand on Bodie's arm. "Hang on. Wasn't there something you wanted to give to Mr Cowley?" Doyle's expression showed only helpfulness, but there was a gleam in his eye.

Bodie glanced at Cowley. "No, I—"

"I'm sure there was. Go on."

"What it is, Bodie?"

Bodie glared at Doyle, then turned to Cowley. "Oh, it was just...the fee for the return of the...suit. Sir." Bodie looked at the wall.

"I see." He looked again from one to the other. "Very well. Give it to me."

"Thank you, sir." Bodie smiled, and sent a look of triumph towards Doyle. He dug out a crumpled slip of paper from his jacket pocket and placed it on Cowley's desk.

"Now you'll have money to make it up to Betty," Doyle said brightly.

"Claire," Bodie hissed at him.

"I'll put it through payment processing," Cowley said. "You might get it back. Eventually."

Bodie looked deflated, while Doyle grinned. "Yes, sir." Bodie turned and headed for the door.

"Ah, don't look like that, sunshine." Doyle tagged along behind him. "Too much spice is bad for you, anyway. Now my Lisa has a sister—or is it an aunt? Well, you wouldn't object—she's under fifty. I think. And—"

The door closed behind them, but not before Cowley heard a yelp, and the sound of scuffling. He smiled as he pulled the reports towards him. Chalk and cheese they might be, but Bodie and Doyle had forged a partnership out of their teaming. He had nearly pulled the plug on them more than once in their early months together. Competition was good within a team, but not when it was accompanied by a lack of trust and communication. He had been warned that Bodie and Doyle were incompatible, but he'd gone with his own instincts. He had been proven right.

Perhaps too right. Yeah? Well, there's a better man back there. Bodie had been angry when he'd said that after Doyle had been shot. There were hints in Bodie's past that he could become too close to a partner or a comrade—shifting his focus from the objective to the person. Yet, even if Bodie's focus did turn to Doyle, it would be one more reason for Bodie to stay in CI5. He would keep Doyle alive, chivvy him out of self-indulgence and despair. And in return? _Wasn't there something you wanted to give to Mr Cowley?_ Certainly, Doyle had dropped Bodie in it. And yet, for all the teasing, Doyle had also made sure Bodie's interests had been taken care of. The fee slip was on Cowley's desk, rather than in Bodie's pocket. The protectiveness was mutual, if more subtle on Doyle's part. Synergy and symbiosis. Cowley could use that in CI5. And he could rely on Doyle to keep them both in the organisation—as long as he believed in what they were doing. Cowley’s gamble on them was paying off.

 _You're a brave old bastard_ , Bodie had told him. But no more so than any of his men and women. He raised his glass to them before returning to his work.


	4. Coda to Killer with a Long Arm

Bodie leapt down onto the balcony, and shoved the rifle aside just as Georgi fired. He was off-balance, unable to take advantage of the shock he'd created. Georgi pushed him backwards onto the balcony. Bodie clutched the rifle as he stumbled, struggling to regain his footing. Georgi had another gun—where the fuck was— He heard more gunshots, closer to hand— Georgi suddenly spun around, fell to the floor, and was still. Bodie caught a glimpse of Doyle's face, twisted with anger, and then Doyle rose from his kneeling position and crossed the floor to check Georgi.

Cowley's voice sounded over the R/T: "All right, all right, what's happened in there?"

Doyle's back was to Bodie as he placed his fingers on Georgi's carotid artery. Bodie stood straight, still holding the rifle. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pouring through him. It had been too damn close. Doyle had fucked it up, the stupid—

"Well, somebody say something!" Cowley again, putting the full force of his personality through the R/T.

Doyle pushed to his feet and jerked out his R/T. "Two dead. Neither of them us. We did okay."

Doyle's voice was uncharacteristically shaky—as well it should be. He had made an amateur's mistake; a copper's mistake. Bodie put the rifle down and moved towards Doyle. "Okay? You call that okay?"

"Ah, Bodie—" Doyle snarled the words, barely glancing at him as he put his gun into his holster.

"Look, a bust in like that, you're supposed to shoot from the door."

Doyle didn't look at him. "Yeah, and suppose I—"

Bodie overrode him, jabbed him in the shoulder. "Well, then, the next time, you can be the monkey on a string and I'll be the back up!"

Finally, Doyle looked at him, eyes blazing. "And if I had fired from the door and missed, who was standing in the window?"

Bodie froze for a moment. He held Doyle's gaze, but it was like standing in a furnace. The sound of breaking glass carried to them, and Doyle turned away. Bodie took in a breath. Unsettled, he took refuge in indignation: "Since when did you miss?"

He followed Doyle to a closed door, and into a bedroom where they found the Prior family—alive, unharmed, but tied and gagged. Doyle squatted beside Mrs Prior, while Bodie knelt by Mr Prior. Doyle's voice was gentle when he spoke—focusing on the job and the frightened family: "All right, it's all right, it's all right."

Cowley arrived at the flat as they finished freeing the Priors. The family was whisked away while CI5, the police, and ambulance crews converged on the scene to photograph and record everything that had happened, and then clean it up. Doyle gave a terse report to Cowley on the action, then disappeared from the flat. Bodie filled in a few more details for Cowley, and followed Doyle as soon as he could. The police had blocked access to the hallway, but residents of the block had gathered by the lifts. He caught a glimpse of the girl—Cherie, wasn't that her name?—he'd made a date with. She had brought his jacket and R/T. He smiled as he retrieved them from her, but continued on his way in search of Doyle.

 _And if I had fired from the door and missed, who was standing in the window?_ He had been completely dependent on Doyle, once he'd jumped from the balcony. They'd both known he would be when Cowley outlined the op. Bodie's task had been to disrupt the shot; Doyle's to take down the opposition. Doyle knew the standard procedures—Barry Martin and others had drummed them into him. He and Bodie had always excelled at simulations in the field. Yet Doyle had taken those crucial extra seconds to move into a better position to shoot Georgi. Doyle must have doubted his own abilities, and he'd flinched. No wonder he'd been spitting mad.

He found Doyle near the entrance to the block, talking with one of the police officers. Bodie narrowed his eyes as he approached the pair—the copper was the same one who had stopped them when they'd been in the car with Cowley.

"Thank you." The man nodded at Doyle, his expression serious. He glanced at Bodie, then walked away towards the car park.

"Put him off, did you?" Bodie ran an eye over Doyle, noting the signs that he was still on edge.

"Not noticeably." Doyle glanced after the copper. "Alex Jamison. He thinks CI5 is exciting."

"Well, it is. I'm still all a-twitter."

Doyle gave him a look. "Oh, are you?"

"Yes—and so are you. We need a drink and food. In that order."

"We've got work."

Bodie put an arm around Doyle's shoulders. "Cowley said he'd do better without us cluttering up the scene. He'll meet us at that pub round the corner." He urged Doyle forward.

"So we can buy him a round, no doubt." Doyle shrugged out of Bodie's hold, but turned with Bodie towards the pub. The ambulance crew chose that moment to emerge from the building carrying a stretcher with one of the sheet-draped bodies on it. Doyle slowed, then stopped.

"A second-rate hitman and amateur fanatics." Bodie stood beside Doyle.

"Dangerous enough."

"Oh yeah, with unarmed police and civilians." Bodie moved forward after the ambulance crew crossed the pavement. Doyle fell into step beside him.

"He was a good shot."

"The report said he was originally trained as a sniper."

"Did you ever...?"

Bodie's stomach tightened. "Yeah. In Africa. It's not for me."

"You like distance target shooting."

"It's not the same thing—and you know it."

"Yeah. I know." Doyle's voice and expression were remote.

Bodie let the silence grow as they walked. Doyle had saved his life—just as he had saved Doyle's not that long ago. There was no point in keeping track—it was what the job demanded of them. But he did remember the first time Doyle had killed for him.

_"Stay outside, Doyle." Bodie ran into the abandoned house, intent on following Bergen now that they'd finally flushed him from his hiding place. Doyle could deal with the girlfriend, and call for backup if he wanted. Hunting was Bodie's area of expertise. The house had been converted into bed-sits and flats. Two rooms were located to his right; to his left, stairs led to the upper floors. Bodie glanced up the stairs, but he thought Bergen would have stayed on the ground floor. Bodie moved forward quickly, gun at the ready, and pushed open the door to the first room on his right. He was certain Bergen would have headed for the back of the house, seeking a way out, but he had to take the time to at least glance into the rooms. There was nothing in the first, except a broken metal bed frame. He moved on towards the second room, but kept an eye on the closed door to the room at the end of the corridor. The door to the second room was ajar, hanging partially off its hinges. Bodie started to push it open, then heard a sudden sound, like the crash of wood on wood from within. He shoved the door back and sprang into the room, keeping low._

_There was no one in the small flat. He straightened, and heard the bang again, and realised a board had come loose that had been nailed across a window. The wind was causing the banging. Fuck. Bergen. He whirled around, rushed back into the corridor—_

_"Bodie!"_

_He dropped to the floor at Doyle's shout, even as he saw Bergen. But Bergen went down to the floor with him, and Doyle's shot was high. Bodie felt the press of a gun against his neck._

_"Drop it," Bergen said._

_Bodie placed his Browning on the floor._

_"Get up."_

_Bodie climbed to his feet slowly. Doyle was a few steps inside the house, his gun held in both hands. Bergen stood behind Bodie, one of his hands gripping Bodie's shoulder. Bergen's gun was pointed towards Bodie, but it was no longer pressed against him. Bodie kept his eyes on Doyle._

_"Put the gun down, copper, or this one dies."_

_Doyle's wide eyes were on Bodie. Bodie pursed his lips and flicked his eyes to the left. He had to trust Doyle—as he hadn't trusted him before. "I'm not a...copper." Bodie jerked to the left, hit the wall hard, and heard Doyle's gun bark, followed by another. He turned his head and saw Bergen sprawled on the floor. Bodie looked at Doyle, and as their eyes met it felt like something clicked into place—for a moment no one else in the world existed. Bodie looked away, blinked, then took in a deep breath. He turned his head to look at Bergen. There was no doubt he was dead. "Christ, that was a good shot." He finally returned his gaze to Doyle, his stomach tight._

_"You bloody idiot." Doyle snarled the words as he holstered his gun._

_Relief swamped him; it was situation normal. Bodie picked up his gun and Bergen's. "What did you do with the girlfriend?"_

_"She's handcuffed to the railing outside."_

_"Did you call it in?"_

_"Of course." There was no easing of the hard note in Doyle's voice._

_Bodie held up a hand. "Yeah, okay, we should have gone in together."_

_"What the fuck did you think you were—"_

_"I should have trusted you." He couldn't help but smile when his words stopped Doyle cold. "Like I did just now." To his surprise, Doyle turned away. And it suddenly struck Bodie that maybe this had been Doyle's first kill. His own had been years ago in Africa. He'd been sick afterwards—not from killing, but from the alcohol he and the lads had indulged in when they'd found the enemy's store. He hadn't thought about the man he'd killed, except to be glad he'd won. But he knew Doyle thought too much. Bodie spoke, feeling awkward. "Bergen would have killed us both."_

_Doyle looked round at him. His face was closed, as if he'd withdrawn into himself—shut Bodie out. Dammit. Bodie felt a fool. They were in a war; people died. Doyle knew that. He'd joined CI5—no one had held a gun to his head. If he couldn't— But Bodie stopped the thought. He didn't want Doyle out of CI5. He didn't want Doyle partnered with anyone else. "I—" He didn't know what to say. "My fault."_

_After a moment, Doyle's expression eased. "Well...we found Bergen. Cowley will be pleased with that."_

_"He's not going to like it that we killed him." He didn't emphasise the joint responsibility, but it was there._

_Doyle's eyes flickered. "I don't envy you telling him."_

_"Me? Why me?"_

_"You told me to stay outside."_

_"Yeah, but you didn't listen to me."_

_"Lucky for you." Doyle sighed. "All right, maybe we both should tell him."_

_"Strength in numbers, mate."_

_Doyle eyed him. "Yeah, you just remember that. We're partners: I'm never staying outside."_

_Bodie met his look and grinned. "It's a marriage." The smile widened as Doyle rolled his eyes._

Bodie had never had a partner. He'd had comrades—close comrades—but the smallest unit he'd worked with was a four-man team. He understood teams. Each man was assigned his role and his own area of responsibility. He'd thought partnership would be the same; he'd assumed that was why Cowley had paired men from different backgrounds. He had been prepared to rely on Doyle to do his job. He had been prepared to be responsible for Doyle's life—within reason. He hadn't been prepared for— Hell. He hadn't been prepared for bloody, argumentative, guilt-prone Doyle, who needed him even if he wouldn't admit it. And he most certainly hadn't been prepared for a two-way street.

Doyle had killed for the job. But it was more than that, wasn't it? Doyle had killed for him. If it left Doyle with doubts, well, Doyle's well-being was Bodie's responsibility. "You wouldn't have missed, Ray."

"Willing to bet your life on that, are you?" Doyle's eyes were on the pavement.

"Yes." It was bedrock certainty.

"Yeah, well. I'm not."

"You've done it before."

Doyle looked at him, eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Bergen."

Doyle's mouth compressed, and when he spoke his voice was low: "You were damned lucky that day, too."

"No. You didn't hesitate."

"Because you made your move, you fool."

Bodie touched Doyle's arm, stopping him. They had reached the pub. "Because I knew you could take him."

"You bloody well didn't."

"Doyle—"

"You learned to trust me, Bodie. Just like I learned to trust you. It took time."

"Yeah, but I trust you more than you trust yourself! You hesitated today—moved from the door—"

"I didn't. If I had hesitated, you'd be dead."

Bodie stared at him. "You're saying you planned it like that?"

"No. But once I got in—"

"You over-thought it. That's bloody dangerous. Training hones your reactions precisely so you don't have to think—just act."

"Training isn't everything." Doyle's voice was fierce.

Bodie felt cold. "We work through training together. It's how I know where you'll be in a firefight."

"That's more than training. That's—" Doyle broke off, bit his lip. "Training only takes you so far, dammit. We also have to calculate the odds."

"Nine times out of ten—"

"So this was the sodding tenth time! If I'd shot, and missed—"

"You don't miss."

Doyle's expression was hard. "I might. Anyone might."

Bodie shook his head. "You can't doubt yourself, Ray—not in a firefight."

Doyle stilled, and looked at him for a long moment. "It wasn't doubt." He turned and walked into the pub.

Bodie frowned. Not...?

_And if I had fired from the door and missed, who was standing in the window?_

_What the fuck did you think you were—_

Doyle's voice had cracked on the words—in the flat today, and in that house after killing Bergen. He had thought it was anger, but anger and fear were interrelated, as any soldier knew. You could use them in a fight, but there was no room for doubt. Doyle understood that—on both ops Doyle's shooting had been flawless. If he had doubts, he saved them for after the fight—unless Bodie pre-empted them, as he had with Billy Turner:

_Can you bloody take him?_

_Yeah, I can bloody take him!_

_I know you can. Just gives a man confidence to have it confirmed._

What had Doyle been thinking as he'd waited for Cowley's signal to go into the flat?

_It wasn't doubt._

Anger and fear.

_We also calculate the odds._

Bloody hell.

Bodie followed Doyle inside the pub, and found him at the bar. The barman was at the other end, serving a couple of men. Bodie leaned against the bar next to Doyle, and easily read the tension in Doyle's body. "Risk?" He kept his tone neutral.

After a moment, Doyle sighed. "I didn't like the odds." He turned his head and met Bodie's look, and then his gaze flickered away. He didn't say anything else.

Bodie felt a sort of warmth unravelling inside him—insidious and seductive, and he didn't resist it. He nudged Doyle. "Get me a beer, eh?" He straightened and headed for the tables. Risk was only to be expected in CI5, yet the organisation had little use for those who couldn't—-or wouldn't—calculate the odds. Suicide was a lousy way to build a career. But today it hadn't been Doyle's life that had been in the most danger.

_We're partners: I'm never staying outside._

All his life, Bodie had been the protector—his mum, Elsie, Brennan, Keller...the names went on. It was a role he understood: he was responsible for their safety. Perhaps it didn't work out as neatly as that, but the relationship was easily defined. Doyle, though, refused to stay in his assigned role. He took responsibility for _Bodie_ —and not just for his life. He invaded Bodie's free time, invaded his thoughts, made himself damn near indispensable. Bodie would sooner lose an arm than Doyle—he could rely on Doyle to _be_ the arm. Doyle might be an aggravating, idealistic, self-doubting, bloody-minded, occasionally vicious bastard, but he was also generous, clever, steadfast, and tough. He wouldn't break; he wouldn't quit. And he was Bodie's. He wouldn't give Doyle up without a fight—whether it be an enemy or Cowley, or Doyle himself. And it seemed that was also a two-way street: _I didn't like the odds._

Protector and protected. He looked up as Doyle walked towards him carrying two glasses. Doyle moved with the grace of a trained fighter, able to react in an instant to any threat. He'd been faster than Georgio, faster than Bergen. As Doyle approached the table, he smiled—and Bodie's breath stopped in his lungs. Oh, Christ. His body lit up, focused on Raymond Doyle. Oh, bloody hell.

"Here you go." Doyle placed a glass in front of Bodie as he settled into a chair.

"Ta." His mind was spinning. At least Doyle hadn't notic—

"What's up with you?"

Fuck. Bodie took a delaying drink, then set his glass down. His sodding heart was hammering—as well it should be, the stupid— "I've just realised you didn't keep your promise."

"I ordered sandwiches, by the way." Doyle appeared unimpressed by his accusation. "What promise?"

"Well, there you were, waiting outside. Said you wouldn't." Bodie lifted his glass again, toasted him with it, and hid behind it.

"This is true." Doyle leaned back in his chair. "But it was under Cowley's orders. Hey, you can complain to Betty, can't you? Maybe she'll have a word in the old man's ear. Keep you off balconies in the future." His voice was tart.

Bodie made a show of thinking about it, and got his breathing under control. "Nah, bad idea."

"Because you were lying through your teeth about her, weren't you?"

Bodie raised his eyebrows. "Would I lie?"

Doyle snorted into his beer. "Then why?"

"Its our mobile ghetto, isn't it? No one else's business." It would be all right. It was just a momentary aberration. Had to be.

Doyle tilted his head, and then he smiled again. "Yeah."

Bodie, feeling the impact of that smile, realised he was in deep, deep trouble.


	5. Coda to Heroes

"Marry me."

She didn't choke on her wine, but she did freeze for a moment, and he counted that a victory. He laughed, delighted with her.

She shook her head, set her glass down, and finally smiled. "It would serve you right if I said yes."

"On the contrary, I'd be the happiest of men."

"We are on our first date."

"I make decisions very quickly. It's why the army loves me."

She tilted her head, her blue eyes sparkled in the light. "I prefer evidence."

"Copper's instincts."

"That's right."

"Slow and methodical."

"Careful and certain."

"Where's the adventure in that?"

"You are a romantic fool, Thomas."

"I do not deny it. So, when may I ask you to marry me?"

She looked at him, and when she smiled again it matched his. "Our second date."

 

*****

 

The boat exploded, sending the two raiders overboard. Tommy laughed, delighted by the effect of the grenade. The raiders' bodies floated in the river. He glanced towards shore and saw Doyle looking his way as he emerged from behind a tree. Bodie and Sumner were climbing to their feet. They would report in to Cowley. Tommy drove the boat towards the wreck and the raiders' bodies.

His satisfaction in the kill was already fading. It was never enough to soothe his hunger, but it was all he had. Two raiders down, two more to go. He or CI5 would find them eventually. He hoped it would be him. And then, after all of the raiders had been dealt with, it would be on to the next bunch. There were always terrorists to be found; criminals to whom no quarter need be given. CI5 granted him opportunity and means to destroy them. Cowley kept him on a leash, but he tolerated that because he was fed regularly. And because he would honour her memory in this way. He would stay—just—within bounds.

 

*****

 

"Marry me." He smiled up at her, ignoring the bustle of the crowd around them in the arrivals hall at Heathrow. No one in the world existed but the two of them. She was in uniform, but she had been there waiting for him, just as she'd promised. He held the smile, but his heart was hammering—as it never did on an op.

"Are we back to that?"

"I am steadfast, you see."

"You are a romantic fool, Thomas." But she was smiling.

"Everyone needs romance in their lives. Passion." He stood. He was taller than she, but not by much. "Danger." He took her hand in his. "Come and be adventurous with me."

"You said I was careful and certain."

"With the evidence—but you like the adrenaline rush, don't you? You are a copper." He tilted his head. "Shall I come and join your world?"

"You would make a terrible policeman."

"I'd do it for you."

She reached out a hand to his face. "Don't change."

"Then make a choice. We'll be ourselves but we'll fight them together—each in our own way. We'll learn from each other." He paused. "I love you."

She looked at him with all her cool self-possession. He loved her for that. And then she kissed him, and the coolness disappeared. "We'll take care of each other."

 

*****

 

Tommy left the bodies floating in the water, and turned the boat back towards shore. It was over. The other raiders must be long— He narrowed his eyes as he saw Bodie and Doyle dive for cover. A car barrelled into the garden. Two masked men got out of the car, already firing their SMGs. Doyle was tucked behind a tree; Bodie was trying to shelter Sumner. Neither Bodie nor Doyle had adequate cover, yet they fought as they lived—with passion and cool determination. The raiders were closer to the river, protected by the car and the lie of the land. Tommy brought the boat in to shore, grabbed his rifle, and jumped out. His heart hammered with the rage that was his constant companion.

No time. If he was going to save them, he— He fired from the hip, aiming for the man at the car. The raider rounded the edge of the car and fired back. Searing pain hit Tommy's leg and shoulder, and he twisted from the impact. But he knew his own bullets had struck true; knew the raider was as good as dead. He heard the roar of an out-of-control SMG, and he was hit again. He fell—

 

*****

 

They flew him home at their insistence. He hadn't wanted to see her. All that he had loved was gone. But they wanted him at the funeral—possibly they thought it was for his own good. He didn't bother to tell them a truth they wouldn't understand. He slipped away afterward, and went to the site of the bombing. He felt closer to her there. The fire hadn't burned away all of the blood. Some of it was hers; had been hers—and his.

They hadn't given her a chance to defend herself. The killers hadn't given her the dignity of a choice.

_"What are you doing, then, with your rare free day?"_

_"I'm having lunch with Sally, and then we are going shopping. For many, many things."_

_"My sister has an insatiable appetite for shopping."_

_"Fortunately, I'm used to insatiable appetites."_

_"You could fly here for the day. It is a pretty land when it's quiet"._

_"Thomas—"_

_"Then come to me the next day you're free."_

_"I will."_

She would have come that day if he had asked. He'd heard the promise in her voice. She should have died a soldier's death. She was nothing but a number to the killers. He would show no mercy to them. He made a vow he would keep—until there was as little left of him as her. No choices.

 

*****

 

_Get up! Get up!_

One more to go. One more for her; for them. He staggered to his feet, the rifle still clutched in his hand. He would fight—

The bullet struck him in the chest, and he collapsed. But he heard a Browning speak, and he knew the gun and the man who wielded it. He knew what Doyle would give to protect his partner.

Soldier and...copper. Two..halves....

_You're a romantic fool, Thomas, my love._

 

*****

 

"We're not tied at the hip." But Doyle wasn't surprised that Bodie had followed him out of Latymer's club and into the night. He kept his eyes on the river—reflected light from the car park danced on its surface.

"Funny—what's that tug I felt, then?" Bodie leant against the rail separating the car park from the river. "Are you all right?"

His hands clenched. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You knew Tommy better than I did."

Tommy, whose grief had driven him over the edge—a danger to everyone around him. "It was only a matter of time."

"Yeah." Bodie's voice was quiet. Controlled.

Doyle felt as if his heart was beating fast—as if they were still on the op. He spoke with his eyes on the rail. "I don't know how to be as dispassionate as you." He remembered, with guilt, the injured raider he'd dragged to his feet. He'd been so very angry.

Bodie was silent.

Doyle straightened, moved away a step. "Lets go. Cowley—" His voice was—dammit.

"Doyle." Bodie caught him by the arm.

Doyle forced himself to look at Bodie. Light and shadow met on Bodie's face, obscuring his expression.

"It's okay. To care, you know. It...." Bodie trailed off.

Doyle looked down at the ground. "Yeah." It was okay as long as he stayed in control; kept the confusion at bay. Bodie's hand on his arm felt like a life-line—and that was a danger in itself. Doyle took in a deep breath. "It was...claustrophobic in there. Stuffy. I'm—" He wished he had his bike. He needed to open it up, let the wind drive everything from his brain and his body.

Bodie released him. "We can go. Cowley's ready to leave."

"Good." He turned immediately and headed towards the club's entrance.

Bodie fell into step beside him. "It's the adrenaline. We all feel it."

Doyle glanced at him. If Bodie was on edge, it didn't show. "The high of combat."

"There is a reason why it's addictive."

"And some people like it too much." He heard Bodie's voice in his head: _"Tommy's a lousy thing to be, he's a killer."_

"And what makes you so different?"

"The difference is, Doyle, I do it, but I don't enjoy it."

Bodie had stayed cool after the firefight. Bodie wasn't shaking with the need to move.

"Look," Bodie said. "We'll go back to London, get a drink, find some birds—"

"What would it take for you to lose control?"

Bodie didn't answer him.

Doyle nodded to himself. It wasn't Bodie who reminded him of Tommy. They walked into the club in silence.


	6. Coda to Where the Jungle Ends

He should leave. He should definitely leave. Bodie drank more beer. The pub was filled with men and women he might once have called friend, but that was long ago. He didn't belong; he didn't want to belong. It was his past, and he'd thought he'd left it behind.

 _For her. For me. I don't...belong...with you...any more!_ He'd said it through gritted teeth as he'd finished the fight with Krivas. It was over.

But it kept coming back. One look at Doyle's face had done that. He finished the beer and signalled the barman for another. He was drinking too much—and in the wrong place. He should have gone to his local. But here he was. Alone. He and Doyle had planned to take on Matheson and King at darts, but there had been no sign of Doyle when Bodie had left Cowley's office. He hadn't been surprised.

_You're no better than he is!_

Doyle might not have approved of his fight with Krivas, but he'd at least understood it. Doyle's anger had surfaced earlier, when he had found Bodie pointing a gun at an unarmed Krivas. Bodie had stood there, and he had been so very tempted. One shot. It all might have happened years ago, but Bodie had never forgotten. Elsie had been beautiful, and Krivas had taken delight in destroying her. One fucking shot. But he had tossed the gun to Doyle.

_I can't be as dispassionate as you._

Cold—that's what Doyle had meant. And he had been right. Bodie had been possessed of a familiar, icy rage today—years in the making. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Doyle would never understand that. If Doyle killed—if he ever were to kill out of vengeance—it would be in the heat of the moment. It would signal a loss of control. But Bodie had killed in cold blood; Bodie had killed with precision—for vengeance.

The beer arrived, and he drank, then contemplated the glass in his hand. He'd left the jungle; he'd left the army, and the SAS. Each one had suited him for a time, but he'd never fitted in completely. He hadn't wanted to. CI5...well. Cowley was likely to get him killed—regrettably, of course. And Doyle.... Doyle was far too dangerous. Doyle had expectations that would never match Bodie's own. He should leave. He should definitely leave.

"Bodie." It was a rough voice with a Austrian accent.

Bodie looked round, and felt his face shift, as if fitting into an old mask. "Lukas."

Brown eyes, as cold as his own, surveyed Bodie. "It has been a long time."

"Yes." He had last seen Lukas Becker in Lebanon. Bodie had turned down his offer then.

"Back to your roots, eh?" Becker lifted a finger, and the barman nodded.

"Looking for a drink."

"But what a coincidence. I am looking for a man."

Bodie eyed him.

"For a job. Are you available?" The barman placed a glass of beer in front of Becker.

 _You're no better than he is!_ His hand tightened on the glass. "Might be." Bodie took a sip of his beer.

"What would it take to make that more definite? Money?"

"You wouldn't like my references."

"Ah, but I know you."

Bodie snorted. "Do you?"

Becker took a drink, and wiped the foam from his lip with his tongue. "Army, wasn't it? When you came back to England?"

"A long time ago."

"And you found it...boring."

Bodie raised his eyebrows. "In Northern Ireland?"

"I do not doubt it."

Bodie said nothing, just drank more beer.

"So you tried the SAS."

"You're well informed."

"And now you've found that too...confining?"

"It had its moments." It seemed Becker wasn't aware of CI5. Odd.

"But not enough to hold you."

Bodie took a swallow of beer. "And your job would?"

"For the duration. And after that there would be another. Freedom. Money. An outlet for your...skills." Becker paused, then continued. "Comrades who accept you as you are."

But few he could trust. "It's tempting, but—"

"He comes with strings."

Fuck. Bodie looked around quickly, nearly spilling his drink. Doyle walked up to them, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He wasn't smiling.

Becker's eyes narrowed as he focused on Doyle. "Who are you?"

"His partner."

"Oh, yes? Business, or...?"

 _Fuck._ Bodie closed his eyes, but opened them in time to see Doyle's tight smile.

"Business." Doyle paused a moment. "For now."

Bodie blinked.

Doyle turned his attention to him. "Where's mine?" He gestured towards Bodie's beer.

"On order." Bodie signalled the barman.

"You're not in the SAS." Becker was still focused on Doyle.

Doyle leaned with sensual grace against the bar next to Bodie. "He's bright, your mate."

"He's not a mate."

"Offered you a job."

"I didn't take it."

"You were tempted."

"What are you doing here, Doyle?"

"Keeping an eye on you."

So much for trust. "Sod off."

"I'm waiting for my beer."

Becker put his drink down. "My offer stands, Bodie. Think about it." He looked at Doyle, then back at Bodie. "With or without strings." He turned and walked away.

"Well, he seems friendly enough." Doyle turned as the barman put a glass by his elbow. "Ta." He picked up the glass and took several swallows of beer.

"Look, I'm not on duty. I'm not on-call. What I do on my—"

Doyle put the glass down. "I think we should hold out for more money, though. Incidentally, how much would he pay us?"

Bodie clenched his fist. "I was just having a drink, Doyle."

"Benny. Cusak. Krivas. This bloke. Remembering the old days, is that it? Your youth."

"Yeah, it was wonderful." Bodie drained his beer, but it did nothing to dampen his rising anger. "How'd you find me?"

"Cusak."

"Checking up on me."

"Worried about you."

"Afraid I'd slip off the wagon, eh?"

"Bodie—"

"Self-righteous PC Doyle, without a blemish to his record. If you don't count the hookers and—"

"Shut up, Bodie."

Bodie leaned in on him. "I took money to kill people, Doyle. It's not so different from what we do now."

Doyle straightened, forcing Bodie back. "There's a line."

"Is there? Sure of that, are you? A clear line—and you've never crossed it, of course."

"No, not clear—but it's there. And you bloody well—" He broke off, eyes narrowing on something behind Bodie.

"What is it?" Bodie turned, and then felt Doyle brush past him.

A moment later, Doyle had his hand on a brown-haired man's arm. "Aidan Moore—you're nicked."

 _Fuck. Not here._ Bodie was already moving towards Doyle as the fight broke out and there was a general scramble for exits. He saw one of Moore's companions swing at Doyle, but Doyle kicked him, his hand still clenched firmly on Moore. Then Doyle doubled over as Moore jammed an elbow into his stomach. Bodie briefly lost sight of Doyle as he pushed and shoved people out of his way. When he found Doyle again, there was no sign of Moore, but Doyle was being held by one beefy man, while another pulled his arm back to punch him. Bodie grabbed the man's fist and sent him flying into a table and chairs. He put another man down before he was able to turn back to Doyle.

Doyle had freed himself, but the beefy man bounced back, blocked a blow from Doyle's right fist, then couldn't block Doyle's knee to his groin. The man bent into a curl. Doyle raised his clenched hands to put him down, and didn't see Becker moving in behind him. Bodie saw a glint of metal, realised it was a gun—

"Lukas!" Bodie roared the name as he moved. He reached for the gun—a small calibre handgun—and they struggled for possession of it.

"He's a bloody copper!" Becker snarled.

"And so—" The gun went off; hot, searing pain struck his hand, but Bodie managed to grab both it and Becker. "—am...I!" He hit Becker twice with his left hand, and the man fell, and lay still. Bodie breathed in and looked around, cradling his right hand. It was over. Doyle was handcuffing Moore, who appeared to be groggy. Becker and the beefy man were lying on the floor unconscious. There was no one else left in the pub.

"That," said Doyle, panting, "is the line. And you're bloody well on my side of it." He closed the cuffs, then walked over to Bodie. He reached for Bodie's bloodied hand. "The pub cleared out fast, didn't it?"

"Practice." He winced as Doyle probed his hand. The bullet had cut a deep groove into the flesh of his hand but, miraculously, it didn't seem as if any bones had been broken.

"The fire brigade would be happy with that response." Doyle frowned then reached for a napkin on a nearby table. He wrapped Bodie's hand with it. "It'll be the hospital for you."

Bodie groaned, and slumped onto a chair. "I just came in for a bloody drink."

"Well, from the look of that hand, Cowley's not going to be happy with you."

Bodie heard sirens in the distance. "Who is he, anyway?" He nodded towards Moore.

"Your saving grace. He's wanted for drugs, weapons, and a possible connection with the IRA." Doyle righted a chair and sat next to Bodie.

"Pick up on sight?" Bodie shifted in his seat.

"Yeah. Keep that hand elevated!"

"Yeah, yeah." Bodie sighed. "So you're telling me we're not going to get kicked out of CI5 for brawling."

"Afraid not. You'll still have to turn him down." Doyle gestured towards the stirring Becker.

"I don't think that will be a problem." Bodie pursed his lips. "I thought you'd left HQ."

"I had. I came back. Cowley sent me on an errand."

"Oh." He looked down, then up again at Doyle. "Worried, you said."

"Yeah. God knows why." Doyle looked around the empty, shattered pub.

" _I_ didn't start this!"

"No, but you finished it." Doyle grinned. "Thanks."

Bodie felt warmth coil through his gut. "I'm sorry. I—” He broke off.

"The past can be a bugger, right?"

"Yes. What was it you said? 'All kids make a mess when they're growing up'." Bodie shrugged. "Africa was part of mine."

Doyle nodded. "I'll tell you about mine one day." He looked towards the door. "Ah, here they are." Several uniformed police entered the pub. Doyle smiled at them. "Harris! Bit late, aren't you?"

One of the coppers stopped, and then he sighed and moved towards them. "I might have known. Having fun, Ray?"

"Yeah." He nodded towards Moore. "You can take him along, but our boss is likely to want to speak with him, so don't lose him."

"Moore. Bloody hell, Doyle, you always have had all the luck."

Doyle gestured towards Bodie. "It's my partner's fault. He was the one chose this pub to drink in."

Harris raised his eyebrows. "Some choice."

"He's ex-SAS—you know how they are."

Bodie rolled his eyes.

"That explains the mess then," Harris said.

"Nah, that's CI5." Doyle stood and touched Bodie on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you to hospital." Bodie climbed to his feet.

"Need an ambulance?"

"No, we're fine as we are." Doyle looked at Bodie. "Aren't we, mate?"

Bodie saw the trace of wariness in Doyle's eyes. "Yeah. We are." The wariness disappeared. Bodie smiled to himself as he walked with Doyle towards the door. He'd found his place to belong.

But he faltered just before he reached the door. _For now._


	7. Coda to Close Quarters

He'd blown it. Oh, the Myer-Helmut group was destroyed, and Cowley was pleased with that, but Bodie had still blown it. He felt it in the pit of his stomach—and in Doyle's silence as they drove through the dark towards home. It had seemed straight-forward enough at the time: grab Franz Myer before he disappeared, take him in to Cowley. He'd tried to phone as soon as possible, but he'd underestimated the quick response of Myer's associates. _You should have got off the river and called it in._ Cowley was pleased with the results, but unhappy with the methods.

Bodie hadn't wanted Myer to slip away. And, yes, dammit, maybe he had wanted to prove something—now that he'd chosen CI5; now that he planned to stay. Bodie closed his eyes and leaned against the car door. It was his job to bring in the criminals, the terrorists. Doyle would have. Doyle _had_ —when he'd gone after Moore. But Doyle had had Bodie watching his back. He could have used Doyle's help with Myer—and Doyle would have handled the civilians. Bodie hadn't known how to get them to do what he wanted. He was used to soldiers and other agents—people who understood orders. The Vicar, Sara, Julia had needed reasons, explanations, justifications—even with the killers right there on their doorstep. His arguments hadn't always been persuasive.

_Why? I want to know why?_

He hadn't had a ready-made answer for her. He'd leave that to Cowley, and maybe Doyle. But it came down to the same thing he'd told Lukas Becker: it was his job; it was what he did.

_...if you can't hold a gun, there's no place for you in this organisation._

If he was allowed to do his job. He didn't want to go through the last weeks of recovery again; he hadn't know what to do with himself. When he'd recognised Myer.... Bodie shifted in his seat, and found himself trying to clench first one hand and then the other. Neither hand worked as it should, although he had more function in his left. There was no sense in regretting or wondering what might have been. He hadn't planned on involving civilians; hadn't planned on Julia taking on Doyle's role. In retrospect she'd held up remarkably well. She'd argued with him, but she'd done what was needed, and she'd shot Inge with clear-eyed determination. And when he'd gone to her after reporting to Cowley, those same eyes had just as clearly communicated with him: no more.

It was the fear of just such a look from another pair of green eyes that had driven him to Julia in the first place.

Fuck. He needed to get back on the squad as soon as possible. He needed to get back to normal. He'd had it with being off the roster; he'd had it with Doyle running errands for him in between assignments, and being too bloody cheerful by half. He needed to get back to normal—get them back to normal. He'd had too much time to think.

And this bloody car trip wasn't helping. Doyle had said very little to him in the aftermath. He'd stayed quiet as Bodie had given Cowley a preliminary report, and he'd disappeared while Bodie had been treated at the hospital. Bodie had found Doyle waiting for him with the car, and he'd got nothing but a nod from Doyle when he'd asked whether Julia had been taken home. Dammit, if Doyle wanted to yell at him, he'd just as soon get it over with. Although what business it was of Doyle's—

_We're partners._

Sod it. It was all Doyle's fault anyway. If Doyle hadn't gone after Moore, Bodie wouldn't have injured his hand, and then he wouldn't have been on the river with Julia in the first place. In fact—

"We're here."

Bodie looked round, startled by Doyle's voice. He glanced out the window. "This isn't— This is your block." He looked at Doyle.

"Oh, brilliant. I can see now how you spotted Myer."

"Doyle—"

Doyle cut him off, his voice hard. "It's both hands, Bodie. How the fuck are you going to manage?"

He didn't know, and it made him all the angrier. "Just fine! I—"

"Like you managed with Myer? No gun, no R/T, no—"

"Leave it out! Cowley's already weighed in on that. And anyway, we didn't need—" He broke off as Doyle turned to glare at him.

"You didn't need us? Oh, yeah, you managed quite well on your own."

"Dammit, Doyle. You weren't there. You—” And again he broke off, but this time is wasn't because Doyle looked at him. There was enough light for him to see just how tightly Doyle's hands were wrapped around the steering wheel. And in his head he heard Doyle's shout: _Bodie!_ It could have been an echo of his own shout to Becker. He breathed out. "Okay."

"Okay what?" Doyle spoke to the steering wheel.

"I could use the help."

When Doyle looked at him, the glare hadn't diminished, but suspicion had been added to it.

Bodie found himself grinning, and the last of his anger disappeared. "I expect to be waited on hand and food, mind. And you can start by opening the car door, eh?"

"Berk." But Doyle got out of the car and walked around to let Bodie out.

They walked up to Doyle's flat in silence, but it wasn't the uncomfortable silence of the car trip. Doyle closed and locked the door while Bodie walked further into the flat. He could feel the tension inside him finally easing at last. He was as familiar with Doyle's flat as his own.

Doyle moved past him. "Food or...?"

"Shower." He still had the stink of the op on him.

"Let's get something for your hands, then." Doyle headed for the kitchen while Bodie went to the bathroom. When Doyle returned, he put plastic bags around Bodie's bandages, then turned on the shower, and helped him to finish undressing. "I'll be back," he said, as Bodie stepped towards the shower.

"Oh, be still my heart."

Doyle gave him a two-fingered salute, and left the bathroom. Bodie let the water cascade over him, washing the sweat and grime from his body. He should have been at Julia's by now, contemplating spending the night. Instead he was at Doyle's flat, contemplating more weeks of being left behind while Doyle went out on ops. Damn it all to hell. He belonged at HQ. He belonged with Doyle.

_Business.... For now._

He didn't know what Doyle had meant by that—and he wasnt sure he wanted to find out. It was one thing to want Doyle, quite another to...what? Need him? When he'd grabbed Franz Myer it had felt like going into action with only one arm. He'd kept turning, expecting Doyle, and finding only Julia. It was all too dangerously close to dependency—on the job and off. He could take care of himself; he'd _always_ taken care of himself. But right now, he couldn't even turn off the fucking taps. Gritting his teeth, he managed to use his left hand—encased though it was—to turn off first the hot water and then the cold. He sighed, and leaned his head against the tile.

He already knew he wouldn't want to work with anyone else in CI5. He didn't want to make love to anyone else in CI5 either. The very idea of touching Doyle, watching him turn on, seeing those eyes widen—lifted him. It sent him soaring, more like, but he couldn't even touch himself. Bodie closed his eyes. He rather thought he could have him—Ray Doyle. No strings. Christ, to hear Doyle shout his name; wrench it from him, like—

His breath caught. Like he'd wanted to shout Doyle's name after he'd heard Terkoff's gun in that bloody car park. He didn't just want Ray Doyle. He didn't even just need him. Once wouldn't be enough. Dependency—

"Bodie?"

He jerked away from the shower wall. "What?"

"Well, I had wondered if you'd gone down the drain. C'mon, hero. Supper's waiting."

He schooled his face, lifted his chin, and stepped out of the shower. Doyle had a towel waiting for him, along with a polo-neck and trousers. They each left spare clothes at the other's place—there was no guessing when they might need to crash at the closest flat. Doyle helped him to dress.

"You all right?" There was concern in Doyle's eyes.

"Yeah." Bodie moved away from him. "Tired."

"I'm not surprised. Go on. Food will help."

Doyle's voice was gentle, and it made Bodie's tone sharper. "I just want to sleep."

"Suit yourself. You know where the bed is."

"There's no need—"

"You know you're going to need help at least for a couple of days. As soon as you can easily move the fingers on your left hand, I'll leave you alone. In the meantime, it's more comfortable for me here. And we both know what a bastard of a patient you are, so leave it out. Right?"

Bodie looked at the ceiling for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Sorry." He met Doyle's eyes. "Food would be nice."

Doyle shook his head and brushed past him. "Two years and three bloody months."

"What?"

Doyle turned to face him. He leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed. "Supper comes at a price."

Bodie narrowed his eyes. "What price?"

"I will always report my location first."

"Eh?"

Doyle pushed away from the door. "You're going to repeat that. A dozen times." He opened the door.

"You want me to say, 'I will always report my location first,' a dozen times?" Bodie followed Doyle.

"That's one."

"Doyle—" They were headed for the kitchen. The smell of fried bacon made his mouth water.

"Eleven more to go."

"That's blackmail!"

"Initiative. Eleven more to go." Doyle stopped by the oven, towel in hand.

Bodie eyed Doyle.

Doyle eyed him back.

Bodie sighed. "I will not forget to give my bloody location first."

Doyle smiled and opened the oven. "Ten."

"I will always report my location first to my bloody-minded partner...."

 _We're fine as we are._ He had to believe that.


	8. Coda to Everest Was Also Conquered

Mrs Miller thanked them for coming to visit. She smiled as Doyle clasped her hand, and laughed when Bodie told several charming anecdotes about Tony. But nothing could disguise the overwhelming grief in her eyes. Doyle's own smile disappeared as soon as they left the house. Night had fallen while they'd been inside, and there was a chill to the autumn air. He shivered as they walked towards the street.

"Drink?" Bodie's voice was the same as it had been with Mrs Miller.

"No." He wanted to go home. He wanted to get on the bike and ride against the cool air until he was numb.

"Ah, come on."

He stopped and looked at Bodie in the light of a street lamp. "There was no need to kill him."

Bodie shrugged. "He was in the wrong place." His face was expressionless. Dispassionate.

"He was twenty-six."

"His choice to do the job."

Doyle turned away, needing to move, wanting to strike out. "It could have been you. Or me."

"It wasn't."

"Dammit, Bodie."

"What do you want, Doyle?"

"I—" He kept remembering the pain in Mrs Miller's eyes. "I'll see you." He started to walk away, but then he paused. He looked at the ground, and then back at Bodie. "Walk with me?"

Bodie nodded, and caught up with him. They walked quickly, passing houses, flats, shops and restaurants. They didn't speak, but gradually Doyle felt the tension inside him begin to ease. He slowed the pace. His arm bumped against Bodie's.

"Better?" Bodie's voice was quiet.

Doyle shrugged. It had been his idea to see Tony's mother. It was expected in the police. He'd gone to see Syd's wife, all those years ago. He'd felt just as inadequate then as he had today.

"I was angry too, Ray. I rather wish Turvey had resisted arrest."

"He did. He tried to bribe us."

"Old habits."

"Old effective habits. Bribes, blackmail—it all worked for him before."

"But not with us."

"No. Well, maybe if he hadn't thrown scotch in your face." He remembered the instant anger in Bodie, and the ice-cold control that had followed.

"It's never wise to antagonise a man you might want to bribe."

"Turvey said every man has his price."

"But you have to know what it is. He didn't have a clue."

"No." Turvey didn't know the value of another man's life.

"I hate to admit it, but it was very satisfying to take Turvey in—past his family like that."

"We'll make a copper out of you yet, Bodie."

"God forbid. Anyway, the charges will stick—for him and Frank Goodman."

"And Derrington." Doyle paused, and then he turned to lead them back towards the car. "You said something about a drink?"

"If you're buying."

Doyle sighed. "Yeah, all right."

"Good lad."

He looked at Bodie, and thought of Tony. "Would it have been any different? If it had been one of us?"

Bodie shook his head. "There's no sense in thinking like that."

"Cowley did."

"Yeah, well." Bodie glanced away. "Cowley's responsibility is different, isn't it?"

"It was a milk run. We would have done the same—"

"Ray."

He shut up, but the tension was back. They expected death in a firefight or undercover. Tony had been picking up an ex-Detective Superintendent. Anyone's guard might have been down.

"At least Tony's death had some meaning," Bodie said. "It brought all of CI5 down on Turvey."

"Yeah, but that won't help his mother, will it." He'd thought Syd's wife would find some peace when Haydon had been convicted of the murder. But the last time he'd seen her, the grief had still been in her eyes.

"No. I suppose that was her Room 101—losing her only child."

"She was staring at it from the day he joined CI5."

"It was what he wanted."

"And she wanted it for him. That's courage, mate."

"The ones left behind." He glanced at Doyle. "Your mother is still alive, isn't she?"

"Yeah. My mum and two sisters."

"So how do they feel—"

"They don't approve of my choice of career."

"Ah."

"Or any other choice I've made, for that matter."

"Want you to settle down with a wife and a mortgage, is that it?"

"More or less. So one day I told them I fancied blokes." He grinned when Bodie missed a step. "They didn't believe me."

"I wonder why." Bodie's voice was dry.

"What about you?" Bodie had told him very little of his past, and nothing of his childhood.

"I am—happily—alone in the world."

Doyle looked at him. "No you're not."

"Eh?"

"You've got me."

For a moment, Bodie stared at him, and then his expression shifted to amusement. "Ah, but you won't be grieving for me."

"Won't I? But I might have to work with Anson, you see—"

"We're partners, right? We'll go together."

"Not if you keep going in on your own—" He side-stepped as Bodie tried to grab him, and laughed. "Gerroff."

"Already learnt my lesson, haven't I?" They resumed the walk.

"Glad to see it stuck. I told you I wasn't going to stay outside when you went in."

"And vice versa. You watch my back, I'll watch yours."

"Yeah."

Bodie suddenly stopped walking. They weren't far from the car. "Yes, you did say that, didn't you?" His tone was speculative.

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Bodie's smile set off all of Doyle's alarms. "So you'll follow me in, will you?"

"Well...."

"You'll watch my back."

Doyle narrowed his eyes. "What are you on about?"

"Here, give me 5p."

"What? Why?" Doyle watched as Bodie veered towards a phone box. He followed him.

"You like lasagna, don't you?" Bodie snapped his fingers at him for the coins.

Doyle didn't move. "You're calling...Mandy, aren't you?"

"Maddy." Bodie tried to dig in Doyle's pocket.

Doyle batted him away. "Maddy." He pulled out a five pence piece and handed it to Bodie. "You're abandoning me, you sod."

Bodie grinned at him as he lifted the handset and then slotted the coin in. "No, I'm not."

"Bodie, what—"

"Hello!" Bodie's voice was a bit too cheerful. He listened for a moment, then winced. "Yes, I know, but—"

Doyle grinned and leaned against the entrance to the call box, arms crossed.

"No, but—"

Doyle shook his head. "You just can't keep your—"

"How about a foursome?" Bodie raised his voice.

Doyle straightened. He shook his head.

"Absolutely." Bodie listened to the phone. "Of course Ray." He beamed. "Give us twenty minutes. Bye, luv."

"Bodie, no." Doyle grimaced.

Bodie guided Doyle away from the call box. "Judy is her name. You'll like her, Ray. Trust me."

"I don't want—"

"You wouldn't abandon me, would you? My own partner?"

Doyle rolled his eyes.

Bodie slung an arm around his shoulder. "Look how tense you are. I can guarantee you'll have a good time."

"How can you guarantee that?"

"Easily. Two girls. One bed. It's simple maths."

Doyle stopped walking.

"All together now," Bodie sang in his ear.

Doyle felt a jolt in his stomach. He broke free of Bodie's hold. "You're joking."

"You said you'd watch my back."

"Not literally."

Bodie crossed his arms. "Scared?"

Doyle wished they'd stopped where there was more light. "You're serious."

"Well, they've indicated a willingness before. And Maddy likes you. God knows why." Underneath the cheeriness, there was something like tension in Bodie's voice.

"You haven't—"

"No. Didn't fancy it."

"Why now?"

Bodie seemed to hesitate, and then he turned away. "It's not a big deal, Ray. Yes or no?"

Doyle stared at him. Either of them could have gone north for Turner. "Sod it, Bodie." He heard the tightness in his own voice.

Bodie looked round, but his face was still in darkness. "It'll get the adrenaline out of your system." The lightness had fled from his voice.

 _It's the adrenaline. We all feel it._ It had been another night, not long ago, when Bodie had said that to him.

"And yours."

"Yeah."

And he remembered his own question to Bodie that night: _What would it take for you to lose control?_ What if anger wasn't the only trigger? His heart thumped. "Yeah, all right. Why not?"

He saw a flash of teeth as Bodie smiled.

 

*****

 

Doyle lay on his back in sated exhaustion. Judy was curled up next to him in the circle of his arm. Bodie settled next to him, also on his back, still breathing a little quickly. Bodie had groaned when he'd come—an unexpectedly vulnerable sound. Doyle's stomach twisted, and he closed his eyes. Judy was a pleasant, petite brunette with an irrepressible dimple. "We like to compare," she'd said, and laughed. But it wasn't the memory of Judy that sent a spark through him, even now. Christ.

Bodie stirred beside him, and then he felt Bodie's breath next to his ear. Doyle bit down on his lip. "Better?"

He didn't dare say anything. It had started in humour and fun—the girls lit up on the competitiveness between them, and their knowledge of each other. Passion had taken over, sweeping everything away. All the pain and grief and anger. All the confusion. And as he'd climaxed, he'd reached out—and Bodie had caught him.

Bodie's voice was soft, a whisper only he would hear: "It wouldn't have been you or me, Ray. We wouldn't have gone alone."

His heart clenched. "That's no guarantee. You—"

The feather touch of a pair of lips stilled him.

"It is."

And he believed him. Deep down, he bloody well believed him. _We'll go together._

_Every man has his price._

He knew his.


	9. Coda to When the Heat Cools Off

The police took charge of Jill Haydon.  Bodie took charge of Doyle.  He drove him home through the darkening streets of London and thought about how it was supposed to have been.  They were to have had a day of fishing, food and drink at the pub, company for the night. A last, hearty celebration before returning to work and dancing to Cowley's tune.  It would have been good—Ray still riding high from finding the gun in the Haydon case.  Admittedly, he would have spent the drive running through possible suspects, but he would have enjoyed the fishing, and the pub, and the barmaids.  It would have got him out of London—and slowed him down with Jill.

Well, that affair was done for.  And instead of a well-satisfied partner, he had a silent one.  No doubt castigating himself for falling for a cold-blooded killer.  Bodie understood Jill.  She'd used the most effective tools she could find to achieve her one objective: free her father.  He didn't think she'd had any particular animosity for Doyle, despite his testimony against her father.  Doyle had simply been well-placed for her plans. And he'd been susceptible.

Bodie glanced at Doyle, but caught only a glimpse of his profile in the passing light.  "I'm dispassionate", Doyle had said.  But he was never that when it came to relationships.  There wasn't a better man at working the angles of a case—fair-minded, incisive, always thinking about the possibilities.  Jill had chosen her tool well.  All she'd had to do was plant the seeds of doubt, then let the evidence build towards a new possibility.  Doyle's bloody sense of justice would have overcome his desire to be proved right in his testimony, and his need for closure on Parker.  But she hadn't known Doyle well enough.  She'd played the relationship card—hoped to sway him to her cause with her body, if need be.  And now the damage was done.  Because when it came to relationships, Doyle was a blind, trusting fool. He needed a bloody keeper.

And Bodie bloody well wasn't going to be the one to do it.  He tightened his hands on the steering wheel.  He'd set Ray up with birds, he'd plan excursions for them both, he'd even try to deflect Doyle when he was in too serious a pursuit. But he wasn't going to take responsibility for his well-being.  Bodie drew the line there.  He had to.

"I'm sorry," Doyle said as Bodie swung the car into his street.

"For what, for Christ's sake?"  He navigated through the entranceway and stopped the car in front of Doyle's garage.

"Didn't have much of a leave, did you?"

"It had its moments."  He felt Doyle's eyes on him but didn't look at him.  _Get out of the car, Ray.  Go and brood on your own, like you always do._

"Come up for a drink?"

He wanted to go home.  He wanted to get as far away from Ray Doyle as he could.  "All right."  He turned off the motor and followed Ray into the block and up the stairs to his flat.  So Doyle didn't want to be alone. Fair enough.  They'd have a drink or two and then Bodie would finally go home.  He had a damn fine bottle of scotch at home. 

Doyle took off his jacket as they entered the flat.  Bodie went to the drink stand and poured whisky for both of them.  He turned to find Doyle at the window, looking out into the night. Bodie couldn't help the way his eyes and body assessed Doyle, just as he couldn't help the tightening of fear in his gut.  All he could do was protect himself from getting in any deeper.

"Here."  He knew his voice was rougher than it should be, but counted on Doyle's preoccupation to keep him from noticing. 

"Ta."  Doyle took the glass and downed the drink in one swallow.

"Don't beat yourself up over her, Ray.  She's not worth it." 

Doyle said nothing.  His back, however, was eloquent.

"She used you."

Doyle turned.  "I let her."

"You listened to her—"

"At your urging."  A sudden smile flitted across Doyle's face.

Bodie sighed, and knew his own smile was wry.  "Yeah, all right, at my urging.  But the point is, you looked at the evidence.  You didn't want to be convinced of Haydon's innocence."

"Didn't I?"

"No. Not at first, anyway."

"Yeah."  Doyle moved across the room and set his glass down on a side table.  "But later I did."

"And so what if you did?  Is it such a crime?"

"Thinking with my balls—"

"No.  You caught the anomaly, didn't you?"

Doyle looked at him.  "What if I hadn't?"

"Cowley had your back."  Abruptly, Bodie drank his whisky.

"So did you."

"I believed her."  And he had.  Or, at the least, he hadn't been thinking about her.

"You were backing me up.  I was the one who fell for her."

Bodie put his glass down.  "We're all fools in love, mate."  He kept his voice light.

"No."  Doyle tilted his head.  "I've never known you to be."

Bodie looked down.  "Yeah, well, I've done my share."

"Cynical now, are you?"

"Let's say prepared."  He smiled at Doyle, and held his expression as if he faced an enemy.

"I see."

Bodie moved towards the door.  "Anyway, it's over and done with now.  Back at it tomorrow.  Pick you up at seven?"

"Yeah."  Bodie had reached the door before Doyle spoke again.  "Bodie."

He braced himself and turned. There was a speculative look in Doyle's eyes that brought Bodie's chin up.  He kept his own expression blank.

That dangerous look vanished as Doyle smiled. "Thank you."

Bodie shrugged.  "You're my partner.  All right, now?"

"Other than being a fool?  Yeah, I'm all right."

"Good night, Ray."

"Night, mate."  Doyle's voice was soft.

He got himself out of the flat, down the stairs, and into the cool evening.  As he opened his car door, he couldn't resist a last glance at Doyle's window. Doyle stood there, watching him.  Bodie's gut clenched, and he forced himself to breathe as he climbed into the car and started the motor.  Christ.  And he called himself prepared? 

He was a fool and he knew it.  And he was very much afraid that Doyle knew it, too.


	10. Coda to Stake Out

  
_Bodie: You know what I mean.  
Doyle: Yeah. I know what you mean._

  


The sound of the phone jolted him out of a well-deserved sleep. 

"Goddammit."  Doyle fumbled for the telephone near his bed. There was likely to be only one reason for his phone to ring at this bloody time of the day.  Wasn't it enough that they'd saved the world—well, London—last night?  "Yeah. Doyle."

"Four-five, Mr Cowley requires you to meet him at the NCP in New Kent Road."

"Why?  What's going on?"

"As soon as possible, Four-five. Control out."

Doyle glared at the handset, slammed it down, and winced.  "Bloody hell."  His head ached from the combination of too little sleep and too much alcohol.  After they'd been debriefed by Cowley and the bomb experts, they'd been sent home for a kip.  They were to report back by 0900.  Had Bodie been called in as well?  He glanced at the phone, but the summons had been urgent and they'd get there quicker separately.  Doyle pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, found his gun, jacket, and R/T, and headed out the door.

He was half-way to New Kent Road when his car radio chattered at him.

"Four-five," he acknowledged.

"Report to HQ, Four-five.  Mr Cowley will meet you there."

"Bloody hell!  I'm—"

"Control out."

Doyle glared at the radio.  The road was clear, so he made a quick U-turn and drove to HQ.  The building was oddly quiet when he arrived.  There were usually some agents around, even this early, but he didn't see anyone on his way to Cowley's office.  Cowley was seated at his desk, his glasses in his hands.

"What...happened?"  Doyle moderated his voice as he saw the expression on Cowley's face.

"Bodie's dead."

"No."  The denial was automatic, and it was all he could think as everything else within him shut down.  It wasn't possible.

"Where were you, Doyle?"

Doyle shook his head.

Cowley stood.  "You're his partner. Were his partner.  His welfare is your responsibility.  Where were you when the bomb went off?"

"It didn't!"

"He's dead because of your failure. You weren't there when he needed you."

"No!" 

And suddenly Doyle realised he was dreaming.  Of course.  It wasn't true.  He was in his bed.  All he had to do was open his eyes.  It was just a bloody dream.  Bodie wasn't—

 _Go home, Doyle._   He heard Cowley's voice, unbearably gentle. 

"No!"  He opened his eyes.  The room was dark, but there were faint traces of light through the window. His bedroom window. It felt like his heart was going to break out of his chest, and he heaved a breath.  _Bodie!_   Christ, was it a dream?  Or was it that he wanted it to be?  He couldn't remember, and a pervasive sense of utter disaster was tearing at him.

Doyle jerked upright.  He reached for the telephone.  It took a moment for the call to go through, and then he heard the signal at the other end.  Would HQ have disconnected the phone if—

"Fuck.  Bodie."

Doyle let his breath out in a rush.  "Is that any way to answer the phone?"

"It is at...bleeding hell, four-bloody-a.m."

"Nah, it's nearly half past."  Doyle eased his grip on the phone.

"The point is, it's not—is it work?"

 _Report to HQ, Four-five._   "No."  He banished the memory.

"What then?"

"Couldn't sleep."  Doyle closed his eyes.

There was a pause at the other end of the line.  "And you thought you'd share the affliction.  Charming."

"Yeah, well, we are a team."

"So one of us should get his sleep."  Bodie's voice changed.  "Are the what ifs getting to you?"

Doyle latched on to the offered excuse.  "It's not every day we dispose of an atom bomb."

"Does it make a difference?  We would've been dead any road."

"If it had gone off."

"Yeah.  If."  Bodie sighed.  "There are a lot of ifs."

"If we hadn't seen Frank arrive with the holdall."

"If we hadn't found out about 'swallows'."

"If we hadn't known about the bowling alley."

"If Fraser hadn't stumbled on it all."

"If Fraser had fucking worked with Benny!"

"Ah," Bodie said, "so that's it."

"That's what?"

"What's really bothering you."

"It bothers me that we might have set off an atom bomb last night."

"No, you're not given to that sort of what if."

Doyle settled back onto his bed, propped against the wall.  "Is that right?"

"Yes. You did what you had to do. It's over."

"Our Katie would tell you—"

"Our Katie doesn't know you as well as I do."

He felt as much irritation as warmth from that flat statement.  "Right."  _I know what you think I am._   "Go on, then.  Amaze me."

"One day, Raymond, I just might."

Doyle rolled his eyes.  "Bodie."

"Fraser was ex-Army.  He was supposed to be working with Benny, ex—"

"—Copper.  And a good man."

"Yeah, on a drugs case. But Fraser was dealing with something else—outside of Benny's experience."

"We don't make those kinds of distinctions.  You yourself asked where Benny was."

"But Cowley wasn't surprised, was he?"

Doyle was silent.

"Benny's not going to make it onto the A squad. You saw him last night.  Working drugs cases is what he's good at. Maybe he should have stayed on the Drugs Squad."

"If Fraser had trusted him, he would have had backup."

"Maybe.  But they weren't partners, Ray.  Not like you and me.  And Fraser...he must've thought this was his chance.  He wanted on the A squad."

"He wasn't ready."

"He was once.  But..."

"He was having premonitions."  Doyle pushed the words out through a suddenly constricted throat.

"He was lost, I reckon.

"When you start dreaming of disaster, you set yourself up for it."  His hand tightened on the handset.

"Unless you have a partner to watch your back."

Doyle swallowed. 

"I used to have nightmares in the Army and the SAS.  It's normal enough."

"And now?"

"Sometimes.  Only it's not me who dies."

Doyle closed his eyes and his teeth bit into his lip. 

"It's not going to happen, Ray."

"You can't say that."  He heard the harshness in his own voice.

"You know what the difference is between a nightmare and a premonition?"

"There is no fucking diff—"

"Yes, there is.  Fraser had a premonition.  We have nightmares."

"Sod it, Bodie."  His hand hurt.  Every muscle in his body was tight.

"It's what you believe, deep down, that matters.  And I know—I know bloody damn well—you'll be there when I need you.  Just as you know I'll be there for you."

"We might not—"

"It won't be for lack of trying. You know that.  You never give up, Doyle."

Doyle took in a deep breath, felt his cramped muscles ease. "Nightmares."

"Par for the course."

"Premonitions?"

"When we have premonitions, we'll get out."

Doyle sighed. "Right.  You're bloody smirking now, aren't you, you bugger?"

"It's four in the morning.  I'm not capable of smirking."

"Half past.  And you were born smirking."

"Sorted you, didn't I?"

"Arrogant twat.  You don't know everything there is to know about me."

"That I don't doubt.  Fortunately, I love a mystery.  Bloody hell—have you looked at the clock, Doyle?"

Doyle grinned.  "Might as well come over then, eh?  We can get an early start on our report."

The silence on the other end of the phone was eloquent.

"I'll make you breakfast."

"What've you got in?"

"We'll go out for breakfast.  Your favourite transport cafe."

"You're buying."

"I'm buying."

"Christ. I got more sleep in the SAS."  Bodie cut the connection.

Doyle hung up the telephone, then lay for a moment with his hands behind his head.  The fear was still there, but the despair was gone—sent packing by Bodie's voice.  And by Bodie's knowledge of him.  Semi-knowledge.  There was more than one way he might lose Bodie. 

_Only it's not me who dies._

Shared nightmares. What if their dreams were shared as well? 

Fucking what ifs.


	11. Coda to Long Shot

Bodie accepted his defeat gracefully.  What else could he do? Besides, Doyle was so bloody pleased with himself as he walked off with Susie under Bodie's nose.  The randy, crafty old toad.  Left on his own, Bodie walked to his car.  They had a day off now that the Ramos case was wrapped up.  Maybe he'd go to the pub tonight.  He could ring Ray in the morning to see if he wanted a game.

The sun was setting as Bodie drove home through slow moving traffic.  When had Doyle had the time to chat up Susie? They'd gone straight from Cowley's office to baby sitting Harbinger.  After that it had been all go.... Ah, but they had been back at HQ working the telephone to try to track down Ramos.  Doyle had gone out to fetch tea for them both—that must have been it.  Quick work, the sod.

At his flat, Bodie changed into a black polo-neck, grabbed his jacket, and headed out. He was starting to be known at his local, and was greeted when he came through the doorway.  He ordered beer and shepherd's pie, and soon found himself embroiled in a heated discussion on Liverpool's cup final chances.  As the evening progressed, he joined in on darts, throughly enjoyed misleading his companions on the exact nature of his work, and drank enough to be glad he had but a short walk back to his flat.  Not once had he thought of Doyle out with Susie. He was rather proud of that fact.  Well, strictly speaking, he had nearly thought of Doyle once when an arse had reminded—no, better not to think about that.

He welcomed the cool evening air against his skin as he left the pub.  He had been a fool, perhaps, to drink as much as he had.  Cowley would not be pleased.  But it was his night off and, anyway, who would tell Cowley?  He was getting used to thinking of himself as a fool. An idiot.  Of course Doyle would think they'd been in competition for Susie's favour. What else?  Stood to reason, didn't it? That had been clever of him.  He wanted Doyle to think that, right? Because if Doyle thought that, then he wouldn't think what it really was Bodie wanted. Which, if Doyle didn't want, then Bodie didn't want him to think of it—unless he might be open to it, in which case....  Fuck it.

He wanted that arse. That mouth.  That singular focus centred on him.  The thought of Doyle looking at him like that scared him as much as it turned him on—which was why it was fast becoming a bloody dangerous obsession. Thank God and conventional thinking Doyle was oblivious.  Mostly. For now. Bodie stopped walking as he remembered Doyle’s voice. Yeah, Doyle had said that, but that’s as far as it had gone. Bodie resumed his walk. No, Doyle was oblivious—had to be.  He might let Bodie manhandle him, but he'd been hot to trot after Susie.  He never touched Bodie, except in the line of duty. He never gave so much as a hint he might be open to something else. Bodie shook his head. Okay, yeah, Doyle had gone along with the foursome, but it wasn’t a foursome Bodie wanted. And Doyle never responded to Bodie's hints.  Oblivious! And really that was good, wasn't it?  Because, yeah, he wanted Doyle, but he also wanted the partnership.  He wasn't going to blow that just because the thought of Doyle going down on him...looking up at him with those too-knowing eyes.  _Let me, Bodie—_

Christ!  Bodie stood still and took in a deep lungful of air.  Fool.  Idiot.  He started walking again.  Doyle was oblivious.  He wanted Doyle to be oblivious, if nothing was on offer.  Because then he could touch him, feel the heat of him, the hardness.  He could keep it all safely in his own head.  Think about the easy way that Doyle was with him, trusted him. _Anything. Show me, Bodie...._

"About time you showed up."

Bodie jumped, and then found himself looking at Doyle.  What the fuck?  He blinked.

"Bodie?"

That was the way Doyle normally said his name.  Pity.

Doyle sighed.  "How much have you had, then?"

"Not nearly enough."  Bodie blinked again.  Had he said that?

"Come on."  Doyle gripped him by the arm and steered him towards what Bodie now recognised as his block.  "Cowley would skin you alive."

"I'm not drunk."

"No."  Doyle's grip kept him moving.  "But you're not clear-headed, either."

"Is it work?"  Bodie stopped at the door and peered at Doyle.

"Wouldn't be of much use if it was. No. Do you have your keys?"

"Course I do."  Bodie searched his jacket pockets, then his trousers.  He produced the key and handed it to Doyle.

Doyle unlocked the door and gestured for Bodie to go through.

"After you, mate," Bodie insisted.  He liked following Doyle.  He followed him through the doorway, up the stairs, and down the hallway to his own flat door.  Doyle's shoulder felt right under his hand. Solid. The cloth of his jacket was scatchy; his skin would be smooth....

"You can let go now.  We're here.  In you go." This time, Doyle made him go first.  Once inside his flat, Bodie turned around and watched as Doyle closed the door and locked it.

"Are you staying then?"

He didn't understand the look in Doyle's eyes.  It seemed to be assessing him, and finding him wanting.  He stood straighter, as if in front of Cowley.  Doyle looked away.  "For a little while.  Do you want anything?"

He hadn't had _that_ much to drink—the obvious answer remained unsaid.  He smiled.

Doyle sighed.  "Right. Coffee it is."  He headed towards the kitchen.

Bodie took off his jacket, hung it on the rack, then followed Doyle.  "If it's not work, then why are you here?"

"Making you coffee."  Doyle spooned instant coffee into two mugs.

"Oh. What happened to Susie?"

The kettle went, and Doyle busied himself with pouring water into the cups.  "We had dinner and I took her home." He started to hand one of the cups to Bodie, then pulled it back.  "I'll put it on the table for you."

"Give me that."  Bodie took the cup, pleased with how steady his hand was.  But he forgot how hot it would be when he tried a sip.

"Steady on."  Doyle grinned, then leaned against the counter and blew on his own coffee.

Bodie sat on a chair by the table.  "Losing your touch, Raymond?"

Doyle shrugged, appearing at his ease.  "It seemed a bit complicated with work."

"That's never stopped you before."

"Or you.  But it's different with an agent, isn't it?"

Bodie grinned.  "I wouldn't know."  The coffee was cooled enough for him to risk another sip.

"Wouldn't you?"

Bodie choked slightly, and put the cup down.  "Bloody hell."

"You're meant to drink it, you know."

"Yes, I had worked that out, thank you."  Bodie picked up the cup.  He wished his head was clearer.

"Why'd you drink so much tonight?"

Bodie shrugged.  "You know how it is.  I got involved in darts, conversation.  I lost track."

"Did you."

Bodie looked up at the flat tone in Doyle's voice.

"You don't lose track, mate."  Doyle's eyes met his.

"We all do sometimes, Doyle."

After a moment, Doyle looked away. "Maybe."

Bodie set his cup down. "Why are you here, Ray?"

Doyle shrugged, and stared down at his cup.

"Missed me, did you?"  Bodie said it lightly, but his heart rate picked up.

"Daft, isn't it?"  Doyle's eyes were still on his cup.

They'd been together almost the entire time on the Ramos job.  They'd spent one night together at the conference, the next in a B&B near Mitchell's estate.  He'd been relieved to get back to Doyle after checking in with Cowley about Mitchell.  "Some would say that. Not me."

Doyle looked at him then, and it was the look Bodie feared and craved in equal measure.  It would have stripped him bare, if Doyle knew.  But he didn't.  "We're too—"

No."  Bodie stood a little too quickly, and he swayed. Doyle steadied him.  The warmth of Doyle's fingers was around his arm.   "Don't—-we're fine...Ray."  His tongue stumbled on the words.

"Bodie."  Doyle's fingers tightened.  They stood close together, as close as on an op, when they blended into one.  "We're what we need to be.  I know."

So close.  He could lean forward and kiss him.  He could take those lips with his own, breathe him in.  Christ, he'd show Ray all that he was. His throat constricted and his heart pounded.

"Who cares what the fuck anyone else says?"  Doyle's eyes met his, and for a moment he thought he saw the same spark that was alight within him, but then Doyle blinked and it was gone.  "You daft sod."

Bodie swallowed. It was relief he felt, wasn't it?  "Who's at whose flat, then?" He swayed and took a step to steady himself.

"Come on, let's be having you."  Doyle tugged on his arm.

Bodie allowed himself to be pulled from the kitchen.  "Having me where?"

"Bed."  Doyle led him down the hallway to his bedroom.

"I'm not Susie, you know."  Bodie sat on his bed.

"That's fortunate.  Take off your shoes."

Bodie pushed his shoes off. "Why is that fortunate?"

"Don't want Susie, do I?  For a partner.  Lie down."

"Oh."  It felt good to lie back, like coming home.

"You up for a run in the morning?"

"Yeah."  He hadn't known he was as tired as he was. The light switched off.  "Ray?"

"What?"  Doyle sounded as if he was at the door.

He couldn't find the words when he didn't know what he wanted to say.  "Nothing.  Just..."

"I know."  Doyle's voice faded into the darkness.  "More than you think sunsine."


	12. Coda to Look After Annie

The sound of gunfire pierced the fog of pain surrounding Doyle. He looked up, saw Bodie trying to shelter Annie Irvine, and then her scream scraped across his nerves. He moved along the van's bench seat, needing to be part of whatever was happening, but Bodie  signalled him to stay still.  Bodie took Annie fully into his arms, but she fought against the restraint, finally falling silent.  She broke free, took a step away from the van, then stopped as Bodie closed a hand around her arm.  Beyond them, Doyle saw Cowley, with gun in hand, walking towards Stanley, who lay on the pavement unmoving.

Christ, what a bloody mess.

"Let go of me."  Annie spoke in a hard, low voice.

Bodie released her, but followed as she took a few steps towards Stanley and Cowley. 

"Get her out of here." Doyle heard Cowley say.

"No—"

"This way, Miss Irvine."  Bodie put his hand on her arm again.

"No!  Stanley!"

"Look, we need to get you to a safe place."  Doyle moved back over the seat as Bodie bundled Annie into the van. 

"Stop! I demand—"

"Demand all you want, but I'm taking you to HQ and Doyle to hospital."  Bodie slammed the door shut and hurried around the front of the van.

Annie gave Doyle a quick look, then turned her head to look out the side window.  One of her hands moved to cover her mouth.

Bodie climbed into the driver's seat.  Doyle could see the tight control in his face.  The situation was still uncertain; they couldn't know who else was involved.  "You all right?"

Doyle nodded, unwilling to say anything else in front of Annie or the yobs in the back of the van.

The trip was slow, and they were stopped twice by the police.  At first the streets were eerily empty, but as they crossed the last of the barricades, they encountered people and vehicles. 

"Bend down Miss Irvine, if you please," Doyle said, as they approached a large group carrying signs.  She glared at him, but did as he asked.  Doyle was grateful for that, knowing there was nothing he could have done if she had protested.  His arm was useless, and radiating pain making it hard for him to think of anything else.  Bodie was silent beside him, but his leg was warm, pressed against his.

Men were waiting for them when they arrived at HQ, and they moved in immediately to take the gang from the back of the van.

"Cowley's injured," Bodie said to Jax, who had stopped by his open window.

"He's already on his way to hospital."

Annie spoke up.  "I want to go to my hotel."

Jax nodded.  "You're to take her there," he said to Bodie.  "Stay with her until we know everything is secure. Laughton and Cahill are already there."

"I don't need—"

"Shut up, Miss Irvine." Bodie's voice was implacable, his eyes on Jax.  "Doyle needs—"

"I'll take Ray to hospital.  Do you want the van or your car?"

"Car." Bodie turned to Doyle, and his voice changed.  "Looks like you're on your own, sunshine." 

"Typical. Be careful, eh?"  Doyle cradled his arm.  The door opened next to Annie and she climbed out of the van.

"Aren't I always?"  Bodie opened his door.

"Keep your delusions, my son."

"Always."  Bodie patted Doyle on the leg and jumped out.

Jax climbed into the van. Doyle moved over and settled in for more endurance.  Fuck it.  Injury was part of their job, but knowing that never made it any easier to deal with.  He wanted to be with Bodie.  If Stanley had wanted Annie dead, who else was involved?  Had he orchestrated the original attack in New York?  Would there be more gunmen waiting when Bodie and Annie arrived at the hotel?

At the hospital it was the usual routine of hurry up and wait.  His case wasn't as urgent as others, and they were still dealing with the aftermath of the protests. Howard's men, Stanley's men, and all the fervent supporters of Annie herself had made a volatile mix.  They were lucky they'd got off as easily as they had.  He was damn glad he'd been in CI5 and not out on the line with the other coppers.  Jax left him in the care of the hospital staff, who poked, prodded and x-rayed him.  They put on a plaster that would accommodate the swelling, gave him tramadol, and sent him home with his arm in a sling.  He would need to come back in a few days for a new plaster, but the arm should heal relatively quickly.

Jax was long gone when he finally emerged, and Bodie was no doubt still with Annie Irvine.  Doyle rang for a taxi. He wanted to use his R/T to find out what else might have happened at the hotel and HQ, but he knew perfectly well what Cowley thought of injured agents calling in unnecessarily.  He was off the case now until he was whole in body. Sod it all.

It was raining—naturally—when he climbed out of the taxi.  Just as naturally, his keys were in the right front pocket of his jeans.  And the door to his block was closed tight. He reached with his left hand but the angle to the pocket was wrong. Fuck—

"You do need a keeper, don't you?"

Already off-balance, Doyle staggered as he started to turn.  Bodie caught and steadied him.

"Careful.  Don't break the other, eh?"

Doyle shook him off. "I can manage."

"Yes, I saw that.  Can we go inside now?"

"Yeah...." He reached again for his keys, but Bodie was quicker—his fingers in and out of Doyle's pocket before Doyle could react.  He looked up into Bodie's grin.  "Idiot."

"In case you hadn't noticed, it's raining. We haven't got time to muck around, have we?"  Bodie unlocked the door and ushered Doyle through.

Doyle climbed the stairs with Bodie falling in behind him.  It had been a long day for both of them.  "Do you want some food?"

"If you've got anything decent."

"I know I have fresh veg."

"There's that takeaway on the corner."

Doyle turned the corner on the stair.  "You said it made you sick last time."

"I said it _might_ have made me sick last time. Better a possibility than a certainty."

"Veg is good for you."

"I like sprouts. At Christmas."

"I have broccoli."

"Takeaway it is, then."

"Heathen."

"A growing lad."

"I'll refrain from the obvious."

"You never do."

He grinned at Bodie as they arrived at his door.  There was a pause and he raised his eyebrows.  "Keys?"

"Ah.  Yes."  Bodie retrieve the keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door.

Doyle entered his flat, and shut off the alarms while Bodie edged around him.  His smile lingered and he felt content. in the taxi he'd wanted only to go home, crawl into bed, and disappear from the world for as long as his arm would let him.  Now he...fuck.  Now, with Bodie here....

"Ray?"

He glanced at Bodie.

"Arm bothering you?"

"Yeah."  It was stupid becoming so dependent on anyone.  It was bloody dangerous.

"Did they give you anything?"

"Tramadol."

Bodie grimaced.  "Do you want to get your head down?  I'll pick you up in the morning."

"Nah."  The word came out immediately, and he struggled out of his jacket to hide his expression.  He should send Bodie on his way.  "Tell me about Annie instead."

Bodie took his jacket and hung it up, then took off his own coat.  "She didn't say anything much to me."

"Not even thank you?" Doyle led the way to the kitchen.

"No, funnily enough."

"She blames Cowley, doesn't she?" 

"Yeah, I reckon she does.  Isla was missing when we got to the hotel."

"Was she?"  Doyle opened the refrigerator and felt Bodie come up behind him.  "You reckon she and Stanley...?"

"Could be.  An investigation is under way. I can do you an omelette if that suits?"

He turned his head, finding himself very close to Bodie.  "Cooking?"

"Consider it a special occasion."

"Maybe I should break my arm more often."

"I'd rather you didn't.  Anyway it's more in the line of a thank you."

Doyle backed away as Bodie reached for eggs and cheese.  "Why's that, then?"

"Annie suggested I leave and go and find you."

"Kind of her."

"Unintentional, judging by her tone of voice.  Sit, Raymond."

"Oh, very masterful."  But he did sit at the table, only then realising he'd needed to.  He watched Bodie cracking eggs and slicing cheese, and let that seductive contentment seep through him again.  Maybe it wasn't stupidly reckless—he could just enjoy the moment, couldn't he?  It was nice to be looked after, that was all.  But he knew he lied.  He didn't want just anyone there, he wanted Bodie.  You were meant to depend on your partner, you weren't meant to feel safe just because he was making an omelette for you.  He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of his folly, but it didn't help.

"Here you go, sleepyhead."  Bodie put a plate before him, and another on the table for himself.  "Beer?"

"Yeah."  Doyle tucked in to the omelette and discovered he was hungrier than he had thought.  He nodded his thanks as Bodie set a can before him. He could walk this edge, he thought.  He knew what he risked.  He'd only go over if Bodie found out—and he wasn't about to let Bodie find out.  They ate in silence and afterwards Doyle sat and watched Bodie finish and wondered at the oddity of fate.

"What?"  Bodie swallowed a last bite and reached for his beer.

"You had good timing today."

"I always have impeccable timing."

Doyle smiled and looked down at the table.

"Come on." Bodie finished his beer and stood.

Doyle looked up.  "Why?"

"If you're not going to rise to that one, you need to be in bed."

Doyle pushed himself to his feet.  "Maybe you've finally convinced me."

"Yes, and pigs fly."  Bodie led the way down the hallway to Doyle's bedroom.

"I don't need an escort," Doyle said as he followed him.

"Humour me, Ray."  Bodie nodded towards the bathroom.  "Need help?"

Doyle raised his eyebrows.  "You are joking."

A self-conscious expression entered Bodie's eyes, but his face remained impassive.  "Yeah, well, when my hands were bandaged...."

"I'll manage."  He watched as Bodie looked down, and felt again that dangerous unravelling somewhere inside him.  He found himself touching Bodie on the shoulder as he moved past him.  "Thanks."  And he had Bodie's grin for a reward.

It was in fact more difficult to manage the loo and a quick wash than he had thought it would be, but he coped.  There was no doubt in him but that Bodie would have helped.  And he would have found a way to make it seem natural, matey, just something partners did for one another.  He'd do it for Bodie.  Only in that case, there was no way in hell he'd be able to keep it matey.

He stared in the mirror as he unbuttoned his shirt.  He could see the exhaustion he felt.  He was too tired to defend himself. As promised by the medical staff, the bruising was showing up around his cast—lurid red and purple.  Charming.  He left his shirt off and walked back into the bedroom to find Bodie had turned down his bed and turned on the light next to it.  He was nowhere to be seen, though.  Doyle sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way."  Bodie came into the room carrying a mug, which he set down on the bedside cabinet.

Doyle looked at the mug in disbelief.  "Hot cocoa?"

Bodie shrugged.  His eyes were on the bruises, his expression distant.

Doyle softened his voice. "You daft bugger."

Bodie looked at him. "I could have been late."

The immediate denial died in Doyle's throat, skewered by the darkness in Bodie's eyes.  "Don't borrow trouble.  Handle that when it happens."

Bodie's gaze dropped, his eyelashes sweeping down.  And then he straightened a bit, settled his shoulders, like a soldier called to order—or told to face the inevitable.

"Bodie."  Expect nothing, depend on no one.  They'd both learnt that lesson.  And then Cowley had partnered them.  Doyle reached out with his left hand, fitted his fingers along Bodie's face.  _I could have been late._   "You saved me."  Blue eyes met his, and he held the gaze, although sudden fear blazed along his spine.  He saw Bodie's eyes widen, and then he smiled—a singularly sweet but infinitely dangerous smile.  Doyle's breath caught in his lungs.

"Is that it?"  Bodie's voice was soft.  He leant down and his lips pressed against Doyle's—warm and insistent.  Before Doyle could do more than gasp, Bodie broke the kiss. They both held still for a moment.  "It's nothing to worry about Ray," Bodie murmured, and kissed him again with such calm assurance that a spark of anger kindled deep within Doyle.

Doyle ended the kiss this time, and when Bodie would have pulled back, Doyle slid his hand to the back of his neck and kept him there.  He saw wariness enter in to Bodie's expression, and it was his turn to smile then. He closed the distance between them, kissed him as it should have been.  As it would be, if Bodie chose to meet him there. Not safe, not easy, not matey.  If he was going to be dependent, then he damn well wouldn't be alone in it.

A tremor passed through Bodie and one of his hands clutched at Doyle's right shoulder.  Doyle winced, and immediately Bodie pulled away.  He stood straight, breathing accelerated.  There was no smile now.  But maybe there was something else in his expression, even more precious.  Bodie swallowed.

Doyle tilted his head.  "Hell of a day, mate."

Bodie stretched out a hand and lightly brushed Doyle's lips.  "Fuck."

"Nothing to worry about, eh?"

"I might have been wrong."

"Nothing we can't handle together."  He wanted to take Bodie's hand in his, but he resisted the impulse.

After a moment, Bodie sighed.  "We're both fools."  He lowered his hand to his side. "And you're about to collapse."

"Put it down to the drugs."  He managed to keep his voice sounding normal.

"Tramadol's not that potent. Jeans on or off?"

"On."

"You'll strangle yourself."

Doyle shrugged.  Bitter disappointment leeched away his remaining strength, and the exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Bloody arm.

"In you go."

"I'm not a sodding two-year-old!"  Doyle eased back onto the bed.

Bodie pulled the sheet and blanket over him.  "No, you're a ratty, foul-tempered bastard."  In a quick move, Bodie kissed him lightly.   "Who I bloody well can't live without.  So shut up and go to sleep."

Doyle looked at him.

"I'll be here.  On the sofa."

He felt that unravelling again, and welcomed it.  He smiled slowly.  "You won't be able to walk in the morning."

"That'll make two of us."  Bodie turned away, picking up the mug of cocoa as he moved.

"Oi!"

"I _like_ cocoa.  Good night, Doyle."  Bodie switched off the light.

"Bloody thief!"

Bodie said nothing to that, but Doyle could easily imagine his expression.  He lay in his bed, listening to the sounds of Bodie getting ready for bed in the lounge.  The door to his bedroom had been left open—no doubt so he'd be reassured Bodie hadn't done a runner. It was fucking unsettling to be known that well. Doyle frowned in the dark, staring up at his ceiling.

_I could have been late._

It was a two-way street, wasn't it?  Maybe it wasn't just for his benefit the door had been left open.  And Bodie had stayed.  Bloody fools indeed, but at least they were together.  Doyle closed his eyes.


	13. Coda to Klansmen

  
_Let Bodie know._

But Doyle hadn't told him explicitly to find Bodie tonight.  He hadn't asked him to deliver the news personally. If anyone asked him why he'd come he'd say it was always better to give such news to partners quickly and directly.  Only Cowley would have been in a better position to let Bodie know what had happened to Doyle.  The reasoning made sense...but it wasn't why Jax was standing at the door to Bodie's hospital room at a time when most people were home in bed.  He might deceive others, but he never lied to himself.

_Tell Cowley a couple of spades did this. Two big black spades._

Word travelled quickly through the intertwined gossip lines of hospitals, police, and CI5. Jax hadn't been surprised. He'd learnt long ago there might be a difference between attitudes and actions.  Bodie had always treated him fairly—treated him like any other agent. It was actions that mattered. He'd trust Bodie with his life on an op—had done so in the past.  When Bodie was back on his feet, he'd go down the pub with him, just as before.  Most men had unexamined attitudes, relics of their childhoods.  Experience and perspective were the agents of change.

Yet he couldn't deny that Bodie's words had struck a nerve.  He'd been caught unexpectedly vulnerable, despite the self-protection that was second nature to him.  But then, every man had his vulnerabilities.  Bodie's were easy to see—for anyone who took the time to look.  It seemed a fair trade, then.  Jax took a breath and opened the door to Bodie's room.

Bodie lay on the bed, and for a moment Jax thought he was asleep.  Then he saw Bodie's hand on the blanket relax, and realised he'd been aware enough to notice who had entered his room.  Bodie looked at him.  "Jax."

"Hello."  Jax crossed the floor and stood beside the bed.  "I hear you're out of danger."

"So they say."  Bodie's voice was quiet, lacking its usual vibrancy.  Knife wounds were never clean, never easy. "What's wrong?" His hand clenched again.

"Ray asked me to come."  He wouldn't make Bodie ask.  "He went in undercover at the Empire Society.  They caught him, beat him pretty bad."

"Where?"

"He's in hospital overnight.  Here.  Just for observ—Bodie!"  Jax jumped forward as Bodie pushed the blanket and sheet aside.  "What the hell do you think—" 

Bodie pushed himself up to a seated position.  "Just give us a hand, eh?"

"He's fine."  Jax put a hand on Bodie's arm.  "I'm sure he'll come and see you tomorrow."

Bodie slowly moved his feet to the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed.  His expression was blank, which told Jax all he needed to know about how he was feeling. 

"Bodie, you know damn well you can't get up. Look—"

"How close is he?"  Bodie looked straight at Jax.

Jax sighed.  "At the other end of the ward.  Bodie, don't be a damned fool."

"They've had me up to pee."  Bodie inched forward, then stopped and lowered his head.  After a moment he looked up again.  "Take me to him, Jax."

Had he wanted to see Bodie vulnerable?  Jax closed his eyes for a moment.  He was caught between good sense and the knowledge that Bodie would find a way to get to Doyle with or without him.  "Fuck.  Stay here."  He turned on his heel and left the room.  He had only himself to blame, sod it.  He should have bloody known better.  It took all of his charm, and the soft heart of a nursing sister, but he finally obtained permission to take Bodie to see Doyle.

"He's asleep.  If you wake him, they'll have your head."  Jax helped Bodie into the wheelchair they'd given him for the trip.  "And mine."

"Ta, mate."  Bodie clenched his jaw as he eased into the wheelchair, and he was none too steady.  It served him right.

"Just don't tell Cowley about this madness."  Jax pushed the wheelchair out of the room.

"What about the case?"

"Doyle broke it.  Zadie's safe, and we caught the ones who were behind it all—Miller Trust. Miller wanted the land.  It had nothing to do with the Empire Society or Zadie's race.  That was all a bloody cover."

"Greed.  Sodding greed."

"Yes.  The oldest sin there is."

Bodie shook his head.  "I've been a bloody idiot, Jax."

"Yes."

Bodie sighed.  "Probably not for the last time."

"I can't argue with that."  Bodie glanced at him and they shared a quick smile.  A good man, Bodie.  A man who could still learn.  "Here we are."  He pushed the wheelchair into Doyle's room.

Doyle was in a bed by the window, curtained off from the other occupants of the room.  Jax manoeuvred the chair around the curtain.  Even though he had been with Doyle earlier in the evening, and knew the damage that had been done to him, he was unprepared for the sight that greeted them.  The bruising was spectacular across Doyle's swollen face, and it continued over his bare shoulders and arms.  He was asleep, no doubt with the help of a drug.  It was painful just to look at him.  Jax wasn't surprised to hear a quick intake of breath from Bodie.

"He's all right," he found himself saying, softly.  But whether Bodie heard him or not, he wasn't sure.

Bodie eased the wheelchair forward himself, until he was right next to the bed.  He stared at Doyle.  Jax, after a moment, looked away.

"You bloody fool."  Bodie's voice was a whisper, but the intensity in the words sent a shiver through Jax.  He couldn't stop himself from turning his head, intruding once more.  Bodie's hand was outstretched, as if he had touched Doyle's face, or wanted to.  Bodie's own face was hard, like a shield.  "He is a sight, isn't he?"  Bodie's tone was light now, and Jax wondered if he truly thought it hid anything.

"I can see his social life might be a bit restricted for a while." 

Bodie nodded.  "Poor sod. The wages of being found out."

"But he solved the case."

"There is that."  Bodie looked down at his hands.

"Ready to go back?"

"Yeah."

Bodie was silent as Jax wheeled him back to his room.  Jax helped him back into bed without comment, and Bodie didn't protest. 

"Take care of yourself, mate."  Jax backed the wheelchair away from the bed.

"Yeah."  Jax headed for the door, but Bodie's voice stopped him.  "Jax.…"

Jax turned back, then shook his head.  "No need." He hesitated a moment.  "Sometimes I'm glad I don't have a regular partner."

A faint smile crossed Bodie's face.  "Who would have you?"

"Ray."  Jax grinned.  "There's no accounting for taste, after all."

"Go on.  Go and be healthy outside this sodding place."

"Cheers."  But Jax's smile faded as he walked away from Bodie's room.  Christ.  If that was what partnership brought you to—he'd take his own vulnerabilities any day.  It was dangerous what Bodie clearly felt for Doyle.  And Doyle?  He remembered running with Doyle in the park, remembered his single-minded determination to solve the case.  Passion like that....  There were some who would say it might be the making of them, but they didn't live in the world of CI5.  Bloody hell.  And just what did they think they were playing at?  He thought back to Bodie's hand stretched out to touch.  Surely they didn't, wouldn't...?

_The wages of being found out._

That was nothing to what would happen to Doyle—to them—if they went down that road.  Hard to imagine, anyway, given those two and their reputations.  And yet...what the fuck else had he seen in Bodie's eyes before he'd turned away?  What the fuck?

 

*****

 

 

"Jax?"

"Yeah?"

"First thing is a drink."

"Yeah."

"Then we plan our campaign."

"Campaign?"

"Yeah. How to get rid of some of these damn whites!"

Doyle stalked away through the corridor and Jax followed.  Doyle was healing, Bodie was healing, and both were out of hospital.  Bodie had walked off with the nurse from under both their noses. Situation normal. 

But nothing would ever be completely normal again.  He saw the angry tension in Doyle's back, and knew its provenance.  He knew, too, exactly what Bodie was up to. Why his voice had been breezy, and his gaze hadn't quite connected with Doyle's. He remembered Bodie's voice: _Probably not for the last time._   He remembered the look in his eyes, and a face that didn't move.  The bloody fool.

Could he blame him?


	14. Coda to Hunter/Hunted

Doyle rounded the corner of the street and slowed to a walk. He was breathing heavily but evenly; his muscles felt tired but not over-used. Perhaps now his damn hands would stop shaking. He walked towards his flat. It was a cool, clear night—perfect for a run, even if it was after midnight. He'd go home, take a shower, maybe clean his flat. He should be exhausted. He'd spent last night reliving his past, trying to find out who might be after him. And then today he'd chased leads, chased phantoms, and had nearly got himself killed. Too many memories had been stirred up, not the least the bitterness surrounding Preston and Montgomery. His police career had stalled out after he'd testified against them. Maurice had lasted only two months before he'd resigned.

Doyle paused, and closed his eyes for a moment before unlocking the gate to the courtyard of his flat. Maurice had settled in with his pub. He'd seemed content—if you ignored the shadow in his eyes. Now he was dead. Killed by Preston's thirst for revenge. Killed for doing the right thing. Well, with Cowley to help him he'd make sure Preston stayed in prison this time—and Kathie right along with him.

Kathie. He'd been a bloody fool there—in more ways than one. Trying to prove...what? That everything was the same as it always had been?  In the courtyard, he looked up at the stars and sighed. Christ.

Bodie had saved him. Preston had been playing with him—stringing it out with Brownie on the crane. Preston could have killed him ten times over, but he'd wanted to see Doyle's fear, wanted to feel it. Doyle heard Cowley's voice in his head: _Someone who hates you so much he wants to see you squirm before he brings you to your knees._ At least he hadn't given Preston that satisfaction—not even Kathie could report back that Doyle had been anything less than cool and professional.

Bodie had been with him all the way through it—calm and competent as always. Poking at Doyle trying to stir his memory: _While you've still got one left to jog._ Nothing rattled him—not bombs, nor threats, nor high-powered rifles with laser sights. Doyle couldn't manage that level of nonchalance. The truth was, he'd been scared out of his fucking mind. He'd compensated by diving into work, concentrating on what he could do. And that was how he'd found himself up on that crane with Brownie, like a fish in a barrel, waiting to die. At least he'd hidden his reaction from Bodie and Cowley. 

He walked through the courtyard, then unlocked his door. He remembered Bodie's hands on his shoulders, playing the hero for all he was worth. It wasn't just his fear he was hiding from Bodie, was it? He felt trapped, uncertain about his own wants, much less Bodie's. And he was tired of it, tired of everything—tired of being a damn fool. He closed his door, took a step forward, and whirled as he caught movement to his right. In the next instant, he was slammed against the window, and an arm was pressed against his throat.

"Where the fuck were you?"  Bodie.  His voice was little more than a hiss.

"Gerroff."  He meant it to come out a shout, but he didn't have the breath for it.

"No gun.  No R/T." Bodie eased the pressure on his throat. His arm still pressed against Doyle's shoulder.

"I"m off-duty." He pushed, but Bodie didn't back off.

"We're never off duty!"

"I went for a run."

"At one in the morning?"

"I couldn't fucking sleep! Get off me!"  He pushed again, and this time broke free of Bodie's hold. He moved a few steps into the room.

"You didn't call it in." Bodie's voice was low behind him.

Doyle turned.  "A fine fool I'd look. And since when do you—"

Bodie grabbed his arm.  "You didn't call it in!"  Doyle was jerked close to him.  "You bloody bastard."  Bodie's mouth covered his, and Doyle, again, was pushed against the window.  Bodie pressed against him, his hands tight on Doyle's shoulders, his mouth working.  Doyle's heart rate jumped, and he hovered between fight and surrender.  He'd wanted this, but….  Bodie broke the kiss. "Open up, damn you."

Doyle caught a glimpse of something close to fear on Bodie's face.  He sighed as Bodie fell on him again, allowed him into his mouth, let him crash against him like a wave on rocks—until he sensed a shift, a lessening of the rage. He pulled away, breathing heavily.  "All right, okay."  The grip on his shoulders eased.  He leaned his head back as Bodie kissed the side of his mouth, then his jaw, and worked his way down to Doyle's neck.  "But I'm still...going to find out what's...going on."  He closed his eyes. Bodie's mouth was hot against his skin, igniting his fuse, making his cock rise.  At last! At bloody last.

Bodie's hands moved, sliding down Doyle's body to his arse, pulling him close.  Doyle felt Bodie's hardness through sweatpants and trousers.  He shifted, rubbed against Bodie, and won a groan from him.  But he wanted more.  He lifted Bodie's head, forced Bodie to look at him.  "Be sure."

Bodie stilled, then he nodded.

Doyle stroked Bodie's cheekbone with his thumb, but kept his grip firm.  "Why are you here, eh?  Why all the—"  He stopped as Bodie kissed him, but his protest died as he felt a difference in the kiss. It was still urgent, still demanding, but he thought there was a plea to it now.  He gave in to that as he would to one of Bodie's smiles.  He pulled him close, felt the shape of his skull, and the tension in his muscles.  He gave Bodie free access to his body, and moaned as Bodie took full advantage.

He wanted Bodie in his bed, wanted to take his hand and lead him up the stairs.  But instead he let Bodie take him to the floor, and he wrapped his arms around him, holding on tightly as they slid against each other.  "Talk to me, Bodie."  He thrust into the heat blanketing him.  "Bodie."

"Shut up, Doyle."  Bodie kissed his throat.

"Oh no."  Doyle rolled them, took control.  "I'm not that easy."

"Never—ahh."  Bodie closed his eyes a moment.  "Thought so."  His hand moved up and down along Doyle's back, under the sweatshirt and t-shirt he wore.

Doyle's sweatpants had been pushed down, but Bodie was still fully clothed.  "Let me...." Doyle pulled back, panting, and sought the opening to Bodie's trousers. Bodie's arm pulled him back and they rolled again, onto their sides. Bodie's leg covered his, pinning him.

"Tactical error," he whispered into Doyle's ear.

Doyle writhed, and heard Bodie gasp.  "Is it?"

"You...little devil."

"Tell me why you're here."

"Pretty obvious, isn't it?" Bodie ducked his head into Doyle's neck.

"You never had this in mind."  Their groins met and rubbed, each contact a further spark to Doyle's arousal.  "Bodie."

"Can't you just...."  Bodie bit, then sucked at Doyle's neck.

"Oh, god."  Doyle rode the sensations, then twisted, putting Bodie off his pace.  "Why were you so angry?"

"Doyle!  Christ.  Okay!  I couldn't—" Bodie gasped as Doyle shifted again.  "Find you."

"So?"  Doyle nuzzled against Bodie, and ground against him slowly.  "Tell me."

"Was afraid."  Bodie's breath scudded across Doyle's skin.  "So fucking afraid I wouldn't find you.  Preston—"

And Doyle nodded, his arms tightening around him.

"You called it in, but you didn't say where.  Damn you!"

"But you saved me."

"You bastard, Doyle.  You bloody, stupid—"  And Bodie was kissing him again, devouring him, and his thrusts were strong, furious.  Doyle hung on to him, let the storm rip through them both.  He came first, crying out as the built-up pressure was released—almost painful in its intensity. His cry was swallowed by Bodie's mouth. He wrenched his head aside, needing to breathe, and Bodie buried his face against Doyle's neck again. He was making sounds, very like sobs, as he drove himself against Doyle.

"Fuck me, Bodie. I'm here. Come on!"  There would be bruises on Bodie in the morning—a match to his own.  They'd have to face each other in the morning, in the light.  But his thoughts scattered as he felt Bodie shudder, and freeze.  Oh, Christ, and he had it bad because Bodie's release sent a thrill of pleasure through him—like winning a fight.  Fuck.

They lay together, just breathing, and Doyle didn't care that Bodie was heavy or the floor was hard or that he really, really needed a shower.  Maybe Bodie would offer to scrub his back personally, this time.

Without a sound, Bodie slid off him, and sat up.  Doyle watched him in the dim light from the street lamps, and felt a chill.  When Bodie moved to get up, Doyle grabbed his arm, stopped him.  Bodie looked at him, his face expressionless.

Had he thought nothing rattled Bodie?  Nothing frightened him?  He eased the pressure of his grip, but maintained contact.  "I won't keep you.  I won't tie you down. But this happened."

Bodie was still, and then he sighed.  He reached out, brushed his fingertips along Doyle's cheekbone.  "I need to know where you are."

Doyle nodded.  "That goes both ways."

"Yes."  After a moment, a smile flickered across his face, and his eyes narrowed.

"What?"  Doyle was wary. He knew that expression.

"Ah, was just thinking, you know.  Let me see if I can remember the exact words: 'I will always report my location first.' That was what you made me repeat a dozen times, wasn't it?"

Fuck. "When?"

Bodie looked at him.

"I was maintaining radio silence!"

"Do it, Doyle."

"Fine!  'I will always report my location first.'  Does that satisfy you?"

"For now. You'll repeat it every day for the next twelve days."

"Bloody hell."  But he knew now what he'd put Bodie through; what Bodie feared.  Doyle took in a deep breath.  "I need to know...you'll be here."  It took all he had to keep his gaze steady.

Bodie shrugged. "Where else—"

Doyle sat up quickly, and he kissed him, stopping the flippant words.  "I was fucking scared.  I still am."  He pulled back, and he waited.

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment.  "Okay.  But that's both ways, too."

"Yeah."  He nodded, then looked away.  He stood up, reached a hand for Bodie.  "Spend the night?"

Bodie took his hand and got to his feet.  "Might as well."  His nose wrinkled.  "Need a shower, though.  And a change of clothes."

"Get in line."  Doyle turned towards the stairs, knowing Bodie would follow, and expecting the hand that touched him as he climbed.  His nerves had finally settled, he realised. But it hadn't been the run, or even the sex that had done it for him.  It was Bodie at his shoulder.

And if the pact between them failed? There'd be no one to save him.


	15. Coda to The Rack

  
_You know what they made of me, don't you? Do you know what they've made of us? Eh? Well, it frightens me to death, Bodie._

  


It was inevitable he'd wind up outside Doyle's flat. He'd known that before he'd left the pub, despite Cowley's parting words:  _Let him sort it on his own, Bodie. He has to find his own reasons._   And that was true, as far as it went. But Cowley didn't know everything. Ray sometimes needed another voice to break through his reasoning, needed another perspective. And Bodie had his own needs.

Geraldine Mather had reduced his life to words on a page—the stereotype of a violent thug. The account had been deliberately one-sided.  It had been meant to persuade, not to understand. He knew that, and yet he also knew the facts were true. There was some justification for the contempt in Mather's eyes. He could have told her more to bolster her case. There were a few things he had done he wished he hadn't. There were more things he would do again, given the same circumstances. But when he thought of those, it wasn't Geraldine Mather's contempt he feared.

 _You know what they made of me, don't you?_  It wasn't that he was a killer that got to Doyle. They were all killers in this job, they had to be. A fat lot of good they'd be to Cowley if they weren't. No, it wasn't the killing that frightened Doyle, or even that others would share Mather's views. It was the ease with which he struck and killed. It was loss of control. He'd hit Paul Coogan without a thought—an immediate, instinctive reaction. It was what they were trained to do, and had to do in the field. But they had been in a prison cell. It didn't matter to Doyle if his punch had been the one to kill Coogan or not. He knew he was every bit as dangerous as Mather had said. That was what he had to learn to live with.

Bodie's hands tightened on the steering wheel. What was it he'd said to Doyle about Tommy?  _The difference is, Doyle, I do it, but I don't enjoy it._ In the midst of it, though, there was a joy in the movements, the exhilaration, the sheer pleasure of acting without restraint. Doyle knew that. Doyle had felt it, Bodie would wager, as he'd swung on Paul Coogan. It wasn't just what they had made of him; it was what Doyle had allowed himself to become. It was what Bodie had become long before they met.

There was a light in Doyle's bedroom window. He should go to him. It was better for Ray to talk things out. He didn't doubt Doyle would find his way through the tangle of his emotions and his ethics. In the end, Doyle believed in the job, believed in what Cowley was trying to do. Doyle would reckon the cost to himself was worth it. But he could use a companion tonight, someone who understood. Someone who wouldn't judge.

Yet there was a coldness inside Bodie that had lurked in his gut all day. _Do you know what they've made of us?_ Doyle had meant what they'd made of CI5, made of the partnership, made of Bodie. Doyle had looked at him, sharing the knowledge and the anguish. But would Bodie have felt guilty if he'd been the one to hit Coogan? No. Fight fire with fire—Coogan had struck first. There was the essential difference between them. Bodie protected what was his. If attacked, he'd fight back without regret. Doyle was all heat—instant passion, instant reaction. Doyle would never kill in cold blood. Bodie knew exactly what he himself was capable of.

_Because if anything happens to Ray, I'm going to find your sadistic boyfriend and kill him. Very slowly. And then, to save you the pleasure of spending the rest of your miserable life in gaol, I'm going to do the same for you, with great joy._

Maybe he was the last person who should be with Doyle tonight. Maybe Doyle would see through him this time, see right into the heart of him. He closed his eyes.  _Open up, damn you!_   His own words to Doyle, his mouth on Doyle's, forcing a reaction, and stunned by all he had received. Doyle's heat and passion had been concentrated on him, had been his. He'd been consumed, his control broken. Doyle had stood firm, cause and cure in one. Doyle trusted him. He wanted nothing more than to go into Doyle's flat, into Doyle's bed. Take him, fuck him, be fucked by him. He wanted to break Doyle's control. He wanted to consume him. He wanted to know, and be known by him.

 _Do you know what they've made of us?_ Outsiders. Outside the law, according to Geraldine Mather. Outside normal society. Unfit. Doyle wouldn't look at him with contempt, not even if he found out what Bodie had intended for Preston and Kathie. No, the contempt would turn inward, and it would burn and corrupt like acid.

He wasn't the same as Doyle. He was part of the problem. He couldn't walk beside Doyle and give him something to believe in. He was a man who would kill for revenge. A man who wanted to fuck his partner. A man trapped between his own desire and the trust of another. Leaving wasn't an option. There was only one thing he could do for Doyle.

Bodie started the car. He pulled out into the street and drove to his flat. By the time he arrived at his block, the tightness in his gut had eased. His hands were steady.  He climbed the stairs to his flat, unlocked the door. His phone was ringing. He looked at it, and he didn't move until long after it had stopped.


	16. Coda to First Night

Rain had moved in while they'd had tea with Cowley and the neighbours. It didn't matter—Biebermann was safe and they had the next two days off. Bodie smiled as he unlocked the door of the Capri. "Nice kid. Nice mum."

"A ready-made family." Doyle slid into the passenger seat.  "And you'd be set for life in swiss roll."

"What is this obsession you've developed with what I'm eating?"  He started the car, but glanced at Doyle in time to catch an assessing look.

"I've a vested interest."

"Oh, have you?"  Bodie checked the traffic, then pulled the car out onto the road. 

"Of course. I don't want you coming up...short."

Bodie grinned.

"In a firefight."

"As if I would."

"Or anywhere else."

"Jane didn't complain."  He was careful to keep his voice light.

"She did dump you."

"And did Debra answer your—what was it?  Telegram?"

"A _greetings_ telegram."

"Ray, my son—"

"Reckon we'll have to make do with each other, then, eh?"

He should have expected it. But everything between them had been so normal on the Biebermann case. Back to the way it had been before Preston, before Coogan, before he'd lost his head.

"Unless you don't fancy the idea."

He could feel Doyle's eyes on him as he concentrated on traffic.

"But then, we both know you'd be lying."  All the humour had left Doyle's voice.

"Doyle—"

"I told you how it would be. I'll keep my promise, Bodie. But we are going to talk about it."

Bodie tightened his hold on the steering wheel. He might have known.

"You can think about what you're going to say on the drive back to my place."  Doyle slid down a little on the seat, as if ready for a kip.  "You might even consider telling me the truth."

Bodie glanced at him, but Doyle's head was turned towards the window. The truth. He didn't think that would go over very well.

The rain fell harder as he navigated through the streets.  The windscreen wipers set up a tempo to his thoughts: one-off.  One-off.  It was meant to have been a one-off.  Only he hadn't intended that at the time, had he?  Once certainly hadn't been enough that night. He'd gone for what he wanted, and Doyle had been right there with him. It was only afterwards that he'd realised the potential consequences.

He'd backed off after Coogan—protected them both from Doyle's all too easily aroused conscience. Doyle hadn't said anything when Bodie had mentioned seeing Jane. He'd seemed happy with Debra. _Do you find this job interferes with your social life?_   There had been nothing out of the ordinary in Doyle's voice when he'd said that. They'd worked well together on both the Coogan case and this one.  Situation normal.  Not by look or comment had Doyle—well, there had been all the gay jokes, but....  Sod it.  What was it Doyle wanted? 

 _Make do with each other._ Casual fucks? Yet there had been nothing casual about their night together. From that first, explosive contact—rolling around on the bloody floor—to the languid, morning fuck, it had been intense. It had also been as good as he had thought it would be. And they were both experienced enough to protect themselves from entanglements. But then Coogan had come along and shaken Doyle's certainties. Once was enough. He wasn't going to add ammunition to the gun Doyle pointed at himself. Too much of their work depended on them being in sync. It was better to live with the spark than die in a conflagration.

Christ. He forced his hands to relax. Okay. What was he going to do if Doyle forced the issue? Just last night it had seemed clear enough to him. When he had taken over the watch, Doyle had stretched out on the floor and had gone to sleep immediately.  Doyle had told him once that he slept better when Bodie was on watch. But Bodie's thoughts had been anything but safe as he'd stood there. He knew what it felt like to curl up beside Doyle, to rouse him to excitement, to be the recipient of his focused attention.  He'd wanted...but he had kept it to himself. It was safer to keep it simple between them. Safer to keep sex out of the partnership—deflect the focus. There was a whole fucking world out there for both of them. Surely Doyle would understand that?

The rain slowed traffic and it was over an hour before Bodie pulled into a space along Doyle's street. He touched Doyle's leg. "We're here."

Doyle straightened. "Turn it off and come in."  He opened the car door and climbed out.

Bodie sighed, but did as he'd been asked. He caught up with Doyle at the door to his flat. "I'm tired, Ray. Can't we—" He broke off as Doyle pressed a brief kiss to his mouth.

"No. Go on." Doyle gestured him through the door.

Bodie walked through to the living area and switched on a lamp.  He still felt Doyle's kiss. "Look. I think—"

"I know what you think."  Doyle was closer behind him than he had thought.  "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, it—"  And the words stuck in his throat as Doyle sank to his knees in front of him, and put his hands on Bodie's waist.  Suddenly, it seemed his heart was trying to leap out of his body. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"That's right."  With one hand Doyle traced the outline of Bodie's cock, and Bodie forced back a groan. "I've been wanting to do this for days."  Both of Doyle's hands moved to Bodie's waistband. He tilted his head and met Bodie's gaze. "Any objections?"

Bodie put his own hands on Doyle's. He should push him off, make it explicit. He should—  Heat cascaded through his body, and his cock already felt confined.  "I thought...."  He swallowed.  "We were going to talk."

"We are. Now, or...." Doyle undid the button on Bodie's trousers, and lowered the zip.  "Later."  He looked up.  "Your choice."

"Fuck."  And at Doyle's grin, Bodie realised what he'd said.  Doyle pushed his trousers and pants down, and then he took Bodie's cock in his mouth.

"Ahh. Jesus."  Bodie gasped the words, and his hands clenched on Doyle's head.  He was going up like a bloody rocket, right in Doyle's mouth.  He closed his eyes, and the feel of Doyle in his hands, on his cock, became the centre of his world. He didn't know who was in control of the rhythm, but he rode the mouth sucking him, his fingers clenched on Doyle's head as he moved. "Oh, please."  There was nothing he could do to slow it down. In his mind's eye he saw Doyle on the floor before him, eyes wide and mouth red.  He was pushing his cock into that mouth—oh, fuck, but it was good. Almost like doing it to himself, pulling Doyle towards him and pushing away, but Doyle was sucking him, providing pressure and heat, and his tongue was....  Christ, he was going to come already, dammit, dammit—  He shuddered into release, crying out as Doyle swallowed him, taking all Bodie's cock would give him.

He would have fallen but for Doyle's arms bracing him.  He bent over Doyle, and when his cock slipped from Doyle's mouth, he replaced it with his lips.  He tasted himself and Doyle, connected, breathing together. And then he released him and Doyle sagged on his knees, his head bowed.  He could hear Doyle breathing as heavily as he was himself. Bodie straightened, grateful that Doyle couldn't see his face.

It took him a moment, but he gathered his composure. When he looked again at Doyle however, he still saw nothing but the back of his head. Frowning, Bodie stripped off his trousers and pants. "Are you all right?"

Doyle raised his head. Bodie could read nothing on his face.  "Are you going to pretend that never happened?"

"I didn't before."

Doyle just looked at him.

"Why is it you always want a pound of sodding flesh?"  Bodie squatted down in front of him.  "What do you want from me, Ray?"

"The truth. That we had sex. That you want it. That you want it again."

"You said you wouldn't tie me down."

Doyle's gaze slid away for a moment.  'I won't. I didn't mind Jane. I minded you making yourself scarce.  You acting differently.  I'll accept it if you don't want to do this—but you'll bloody well _tell_ me. I won't be just a convenient fuck, and I won't be something you're ashamed of admitting you want."

"I'm not. You're not. You never were."

"Then what the hell has this been about?"

Bodie took in a breath.  "I don't want the fallout for turning you on.  Or for doing this."

Doyle's eyes narrowed.  "You think I'd do that?"

"What if Geraldine Mather got hold of something like this, eh?  It's a bloody dangerous game you want to play."

"You started it."

"Yeah, well, that was before we met her."  Bodie paused, and suppressed a smile.  "Anyway, I was provoked."

"Oh, is that what you call it?  You are easy to get going, I'll grant you that.  Look, what's between us is our business—no one else's."

"I'd've said that about our interrogations."

"No."  Doyle looked away, then back. "That's different."

"Not to the Mathers of the world. What if it comes out?"

"It won't."

"Answer me, Doyle. What if it comes out?"

"I won't blame you!"

"That's not good enough."  He held Doyle's gaze with his own. "Poofter.  Pervert. Outside the social norm. It's against the rules, Doyle."

"I'm not—"

"What would your family say?  Your friends?  Do you think Cowley would stand by us?"

Doyle's eyes narrowed.  "Are you afraid of it?"

"No, but I'm not blind to it.

"And you think I am? Fuck you."

Bodie grinned briefly. "That depends on you."

Doyle looked at him.  He stood up, and Bodie followed. "I know what could happen. And I know what you're afraid of."  He reached out a hand to cup Bodie's face.  "This is different than killing Paul Coogan. What's between us...it's _right._ I'll pay the bloody consequences if it comes to that. No guilt, Bodie. I promise."

Doyle's hand was warm against his skin.  "I'll hold you to that."

“It’s a deal.”

Bodie took a deep breath as Doyle lowered his hand. “It’s why we have to keep it light, Ray.”

An expression Bodie couldn't interpret flickered across Doyle's face. “Okay."

"Are you certain?"

"Bodie!"  There was nothing but irritation in Doyle's voice now.

"Hadn't you better get on with the fucking, then?"  He watched as Doyle's smile dawned. He stepped forward and took his mouth, renewing the fire between them, leaving them both breathing hard when he stopped. "It's more than a two-off, you know.  Upstairs?"

"The table's closer."

"I am not being fucked on a table."  He urged Doyle towards the stairs.

"Oh you had beds in Africa, did you?"

"Yes. Always."

Doyle stopped walking. "Is that where you...?"

"Save it for a boring stakeout, eh?  Right now...."  He moved in close and rubbed against Doyle's cock.

Doyle caught his breath. "Good plan."

"Trust me, Raymond. I have many plans." They'd keep it light. There would be no ties to bind them, other than those of friendship and Cowley. They both understood the score.  He kissed Doyle again, then leant against him. "We won't lose our heads, and so no one will find out. As far as anyone else is concerned it'll be the same as always—birds and drinks with the lads."  He felt the tension in Doyle's body, and smiled.  "Let's take care of you, eh?"  He turned for the stairs, but on an impulse held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Doyle put his hand in his and clasped his fingers. Bodie tugged him to the stairs.

"I think it's too late."

Bodie looked back. "Eh?"

Doyle moved forward, and his kiss was fierce.  "Never mind."


	17. Coda to Man Without a Past

Doyle woke to the knowledge that someone had come into his curtained-off corner of the ward.  Bloody nurses.  Bloody hospital.  They told him rest was a great cure, even gave him tablets to encourage it—and then woke him every few hours.  _You should be asleep, Mr Doyle. Would you like another tablet, Mr Doyle?_ It was perhaps fortunate they'd taken his gun away from him.

He kept his eyes closed.  Perhaps she'd go away quietly if she thought he really was sleeping. He wanted out of hospital as soon as possible. At least at home he'd be able to go out, if he chose. It might hurt like hell, but it would be his decision.  It was having a choice that made the lesser of two evils bearable.

It wasn't the nurse. His visitor hadn't moved since slipping in through the curtain. There was only one person it was likely to be, then.  Doyle opened his eyes, glad for once that it was never truly dark in the ward. Bodie stood by the curtain, still and remote, as if on a job.

Doyle's first impulse was to speak, but he was mindful of the other patients in the ward. His eyes met Bodie's and his stomach tightened with a tension he didn't understand. What was Bodie doing here at whatever the fuck time in the morning it was? "Is it Claire?" He kept his voice soft.

Something flickered across Bodie's face—a transient expression too quick to read. And then he moved forward to the bed. Doyle had only a second of realisation before Bodie's mouth covered his.  The kiss was hard, possessive, and completely inappropriate for the hospital ward. Bodie leaned over him, covered him with his presence. Doyle's ribs hurt and every muscle in his body ached, yet he responded to the need in that kiss like an addict to whisky.

Bodie finally broke the kiss.  He buried his face next to Doyle's, holding tightly to Doyle's shoulder.  "No, not Claire."  Bodie's whispered words were felt as much as heard, and Doyle shivered.  Carefully, he moved his hand up to clasp the back of Bodie's neck.

"What, then?"  He felt the shake of Bodie's head, and rubbed his thumb along tight tendon and muscle.  He thought he knew why Bodie had come, and it had little to do with desire.  Doyle had nearly died.  If Bodie had arrived a few minutes later, it would have been too late.  It might be that he wanted more from Bodie than Bodie was able to give, but he would always have this: the relief and celebration of their survival. He didn't allow the tension in his stomach to reach his stroking hand.  It took a few moments, but gradually he felt Bodie's muscles relax.  "You daft sod."  There was no response from Bodie.  "Shall we give the neighbours a thrill, then?"

That produced a soft exhalation. "Behave yourself." Bodie pulled away, straightening.

"Don't have much choice, do I?"  There was a rustle from the next bed over and Doyle shot a look at the curtain.  He'd wanted time with Bodie all day, but there had always been people around, and Bodie had had Claire to visit as well.

Bodie's eyes moved over him, and he leant towards Doyle, his expression intent.  He touched Doyle's face, paused, then stroked along his cheekbone, and his nose, and jaw. With his other hand he grasped Doyle's shoulder tightly, as if to keep him from escaping. He continued his exploration of Doyle's face and neck, his eyes narrowed. It wasn't an arousing touch, it was as if Bodie wanted to map him. No, not map—mark. And Doyle shivered again.

Bodie was murmuring, so quietly that Doyle didn't know if he was meant to hear: "Tough bastard. Thank God. You won't fall."  And his hand swept over Doyle's skin, claimed all he could reach. When Doyle tried to respond, Bodie held him still.  It was unnerving. In a way, it was more intimate than being fucked. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet after awhile he closed his eyes. He let it happen; let Bodie take him in this odd sort of way. Bodie needed this. Needed to find his own reassurance. Find the connection between them—  Doyle's eyes opened and his breath caught.  No, this wasn't about relief or connection.  The kiss had done that.  This was something else.  This was possession. Fuck, and he knew the root of it. The idea of anyone being injured while under his watch was unbearable for Bodie. Maybe it stemmed from that girl Krivas had killed. Maybe it was just intrinsic to the man. It didn't matter that the bomb that had injured Claire had had nothing to do with Bodie. He'd been determined to make someone pay for it—regardless of cost or whether Claire cared or not. He'd shut Doyle out; he'd defied Cowley; he'd been ready to throw everything away in a single-minded thirst for...call it redemption. A bloody dangerous sort of redemption. And it had hurt them. Doyle had known he couldn't stop Bodie, but he hadn't expected to be walled off so completely.

He grabbed Bodie's wrist, and held it hard when Bodie would have pulled away.

Cowley had seen the danger.  He'd been quick to take Bodie off the case—using the convenience of department policy.  It wasn't that long ago that Doyle had been the one "emotionally involved", yet Cowley had allowed him to stay on the Zadi case.  This was different. This was Bodie seeking absolution for a sin only he saw.

Bodie made a move as if to stand up, but Doyle used his free hand to grip the back of Bodie's neck.  He pulled him back.  The strain in his ribs must have shown on his face, because Bodie's resistance suddenly vanished.  He put his mouth to Bodie's ear.  "You bastard. I'm your partner _first_."

Bodie flinched, and Doyle tightened his grip, certain now.

"This ends if you haven't got that straight. I'm not Claire. I'm not yours to protect."  He felt the denial of that in Bodie's muscles. "We watch each other's backs. We don't bloody shelter each other."  And Christ, why hadn't he seen it for what it had been after Preston?  "You're not always going to know where I am."

"Ray."  His name was a whispered plea.

"It would kill us, Bodie."  He waited, as still as Bodie, ignoring the increasing ache along his ribs.  Ignoring as well the too rapid beat of his heart, and the sickness in his gut.

Bodie sighed, and slumped against Doyle. "Fuck."

Doyle nipped his ear. "At least I called in my location this time."

Bodie pulled back, and Doyle let him go, watching as a grin twitched on Bodie's mouth.  "You—"

They both heard the footsteps at the same time. Bodie managed a step away from the bed before the curtain was drawn aside, revealing the astonished face of the night nurse.

"What are you...?  It's long past visiting hours."

"CI5."  Bodie held out his ID.  "I just had to check with Doyle—"

"I doubt it was that urgent."

"A matter of national security, actually."

"He was afraid he'd blow it without me to back him up, you see," Doyle said.

"Fear's a great motivator."  Bodie looked at him.

"If you keep your head."

"I think I lost mine."

"That's why you need me."

"Gentlemen."  She looked at Bodie.  'You. Out."  She turned her attention to Doyle.  "You should be asleep, Mr Doyle."

"You might want to give him a tablet," Bodie suggested. He was at the edge of the curtain.

"Oh, thanks," Doyle said.  Bodie's eyes met his and he saw both entreaty and wariness.   "It comes down to trust, sunshine." As he'd trusted Bodie earlier, when he'd submitted to his need.

After a moment, Bodie nodded, and then he turned and left.

"Do you want that tablet?"  The nurse raised her eyebrows.

His ribs were still protesting. "Yeah."  After he took the tablet, he lay in the semi-dark staring at the top of the curtain surrounding his bed. Possession was a dangerous form of protection.  Fear of loss, fear of failure—the need to shield and shelter, Doyle understood those impulses.  Maybe Bodie had shut him out for more reasons than just the desire to avenge Claire. It didn't matter.  It didn't even matter if Bodie had started the sex between them as a way to bind and claim him. Possession and protection would always be a part of the equation with Bodie. But there had to be risk, there had to be trust, or the partnership was dead. He didn't need a protector. He needed Bodie at his side. The question he couldn't answer was what Bodie needed or wanted. There were some choices Doyle couldn't live with.

The tablet took the pain from his ribs away, but Doyle didn't sleep.


	18. Coda to In the Public Interest

"Bloody paperwork." Doyle looked morosely at the boxes in the office of the Gay Youth Organisation. It didn't help his mood that Bodie was clearly suppressing a smile when he glanced at him.

"Not exactly paperwork, is it?  More the removal business."

"It's still work—involving paper."  Doyle picked up one of the boxes of pamphlets and put it on top of another closer to the door.

"You're the one who told Cowley the juniors could do it."  Bodie put the lid on a box next to the cupboard.

"Don't remind me."

"Ah now, what fun would that be?"

Doyle sent him a narrow-eyed look.  "Why are you in such a bloody good mood all of a sudden?  You weren't before."

Bodie raised his eyebrows.  "Glad to be alive?"

"Don't give me that. You were anything but happy back at that gravel pit."

Bodie shrugged.  "Your one good copper came through, didn't he?"

"Yeah."  His eyes tracked to the remnant of Bodie's split lip.  "Could've wished he'd come through sooner."

"Well, he got there in the end—that's what matters."  Bodie's tone was improbably cheery.

"What are you up to?"  He stared at Bodie, who looked back at him as if incapable of deception.

"Me?  Nothing."  Bodie turned to the stack of boxes next to him.  "We should get on with this, shouldn't we?"

Doyle eyed him a bit longer, but Bodie just collected an armful of boxes and headed for the door. Doyle picked up his own stack and followed him down to the street. The case was wrapped up, the evidence now safely with Cowley himself, so they had been ordered to clean out the office before Pellin and his mates arrived.  After they packed the car, they'd be on their way—finally—to London.  He wasn't going to miss the lumpy, uncomfortable bed at the hotel. He wanted to go home, sleep in his own bed—and take Bodie with him. But there was no guarantee Bodie would want to spend the night. He might be in such a bloody good mood because he already had a bird lined up. He'd been quiet at the gravel pit, and subdued even when they'd met Cowley, with Chives and evidence in hand.

Doyle put his boxes in the boot next to Bodie's, turned, and found Bodie smiling at him. He felt a jolt in his stomach, like on the downward swoop of a roller coaster. Aggravating sod. He brushed past Bodie and headed back to the office. Bodie had some nefarious plan in mind, he was certain of it. It was time, then, to go on the attack.

In the office, Doyle wandered over to the window. "I'm going to get my own copy of that photo."

"Which photo?"  Bodie had bent to pick up another stack, and Doyle let his eyes linger on the movement of muscle under cloth.  After putting the stack by the door, Bodie turned around and looked at him. "Oh. That photo, eh?"

Doyle let a slow smile grow.  "Yeah."  They'd been working, but he remembered very well what the sight of Bodie's pale, strong back had done to him.

"I don't think so, mate.  Evidence."

"It's not hard to make a copy of a negative."

"It's locked up."

"Piece of cake."

Bodie looked at him, and Doyle again felt that lurch in his stomach.  "It's a bit one sided, isn't it?"

"What do you—"

"Where's my kinky photo, eh?"  Bodie leaned back against the door.

"Luck of the draw, mate."

"Fair trade, then."  Bodie's gazed travelled over him, making him aware of every inch of his body.  "Tit for tat. Take off your shirt, Ray."

Doyle stood still, but his heart accelerated. "You haven't got the camera."

"I don't need it. It's not the photo I want to trade."

"Bodie...."  He wasn't going to do this—yet he felt the spark of anticipation in his blood.

"We're partners, Doyle. Isn't that what you said?"

He narrowed his eyes.  "Yeah. So?"

"So." Bodie pushed off from the door and walked forward.  "Partners share, don't they?"  He pulled Doyle's jacket off his shoulders.  Doyle tugged his arms free, letting the jacket fall to the floor. Bodie hooked his fingers in the strap of Doyle's shoulder holster and pulled him forward.  "Some more than others, of course."  Bodie's breath was on his face, and then Bodie's mouth covered his—warm and lush.

Doyle felt himself falling into the kiss, absorbed by it. He knew Bodie was unbuckling the holster, but he didn't care. All he wanted was more of the mouth that was devouring him, more of the tongue that filled him. They'd gone down on each other in the hotel room, but they had been too aware of the thin walls, and the regulations, and the job they were on.  It had done nothing to soothe the growing need he'd felt. He'd thought he'd try talking Bodie into staying at his place, but if he could have Bodie here, now....  Bodie broke the kiss and Doyle moaned in protest. He reached for him, but was fended off.

"Oh, no." Bodie sounded a little breathless.  "First things first."  Bodie pulled Doyle's holster off.  "Now your shirt.

Doyle looked at him.  "This is crazy. We should—"

"Do you have any idea how bloody gorgeous you looked coming out of that cupboard?" Bodie's lips were red, and there was colour in his cheeks. "I want you now, Ray. Please?"

Doyle unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and dropped it on top of his jacket.

"Turn around."

Doyle tilted his head, and his eyes met Bodie's for a moment.  He turned and walked to the wall—to the same spot where they'd held Bodie. He put his forearms against the wall, and waited, as Bodie had waited.  He felt exposed and yet safe.  "It's not the same without the camera—or the others."

"I don't want them." Bodie was closer than he had thought, coming up right behind him. Doyle twitched when Bodie's hands settled on his shoulders. Bodie leaned against him—heated cloth on Doyle's bare skin. "I couldn't do this if they were here."  Bodie's voice was a whisper in his ear. Bodie kissed his neck, sending a shiver straight through Doyle to his groin.  And then Bodie bit him.

"Christ!"  Doyle jumped, but Bodie held him against the wall, and he sucked where he'd bitten.  Bodie's cock pressed against the small of Doyle's back. One of Bodie's hands slid around him, found his nipple, and pinched.  Doyle closed his eyes, his mouth open, his forehead against the wall. Every nerve in his body was firing, responding to Bodie's manipulation.

"Is this what you wanted to do when you came out of that cupboard? Seeing me like this. Did you want to fuck me?  I'm going to fuck you. Here."  Bodie's fingers twisted Doyle's nipple.  "And now."

"Bodie."  He pushed away from the wall, and Bodie didn't stop him. He turned, and took Bodie's mouth, his fingers clutching Bodie's head. Bodie's hands swept over his back.  Doyle pulled away from the kiss.  "Your lip's split again. Yeah.  Okay."  His eyes dropped to the bulge in Bodie's trousers.  "Want some help there?"

"If it's not too much—ahh!—bother."  Doyle, his hand rubbing Bodie's cock, grinned as Bodie closed his eyes.

"No, it's fun."  He unzipped Bodie's trousers, and pushed them and his pants out of the way as he sank to his knees. One of Bodie's hands tightened on his shoulder, the other tangled with the chain around Doyle's neck.  Doyle ran his tongue along Bodie's cock.  "You make such...interesting noises."  He repeated the experiment.  "Yeah, like that."

"For fuck's sake, Doyle."  Bodie's voice was little more than a gasp.

Doyle took Bodie's cock in his mouth. He loved the feeling of power this gave him: the sounds Bodie made, the surge of the cock, the knowledge of what, exactly, it felt like.

"Ray. Stop. Sod it, I'm going to come if you—" 

Doyle released him as Bodie pushed him back, and he rose to his feet.  "It was just getting _really_ interesting." He grinned.

Bodie rolled his eyes. "You sod. It would have served you right if I had come."  He set to work undoing the clasp and zip on Doyle's jeans.  "How much—Christ, could you wear these any tighter?—fun would that be, eh?"

"Quite a bit, actually." Doyle stepped out of his jeans.  He looked at Bodie and frowned.  "You're overdressed."  He tugged at Bodie's jumper. "I quite fancy you in that ripped shirt."

"You can retrieve it from the bin, then."  He nudged Doyle towards the wall. "Go on, assume the position."

"God, it's a wonder you ever managed a second date with that technique."  Doyle turned towards the wall.

Bodie wrapped an arm around him, pressing close.  "They were hooked after the first night—just like you."

Doyle braced himself against the wall as Bodie rocked against him. "True enough," he muttered, and didn't know if he'd said it aloud. It didn't seem to matter with Bodie surrounding him. He leaned his head against his arm as Bodie stroked his cock. "Oh, that's good." Bodie's grip was sure and firm—as familiar to him now as his own hand, but ever so much better.  He pushed into Bodie's hand, felt the slide of Bodie's cock against his bum, and Bodie's mouth on his neck.  "Come on. Do it."

But Bodie made no move to take him.

"Bodie?"

"I can get the stuff."  Bodie's voice was low.  "In the car…."

"Christ. Just do it. We won't break!" He wanted Bodie's cock in him, wanted to be fucked as he fucked Bodie's hand. "Trust me, you fool."

Bodie's hand tightened around him and Doyle gasped. He felt the rake of teeth along the top of his shoulder. "You wanker, Doyle."  Bodie's hand fumbled on his arse, and he knew Bodie was doing what he could to lubricate them both.

Doyle leant into his arm, mouth open on his skin. Bodie prodded and then pushed into him. It hurt, as any invader would, but he knew it would get better and, fuck, Bodie's hand was tight around his cock.  He thrust forward, and felt Bodie follow him, sinking in a little further. He was pulled back as Bodie retreated, and then they surged forward. He bit into his arm, and even that fed the signals flashing through him.

"Doyle?"

There was nothing else like it, the feeling of being both possessed and possessor.  He'd wondered what it might be like to be fucked by Bodie while he fucked a woman.  But this was better; this was all his. He pushed forward into Bodie's hand, and felt Bodie slide deeper into him. The shock spiraled from his arse to his cock, and back.

"Doyle!"

"What?" Bodie moved within him, thrusting, and jarring them both against the wall. Doyle moaned.

"You know damn well I trust you." Bodie's free hand swept up and down Doyle's chest.

"I—"  Doyle broke off, his voice trapped along with his breath for a moment. "Do that again."

"You know it."

"Bodie! This isn't the time.... Fuck. Oh Christ. Don't stop!"

Bodie's arm pressed against Doyle's chest, pulling him back.  "It's the...best time. You taught me that."  He eased his grip on Doyle's cock—took away the pressure and friction.

"You bastard." Doyle panted. "What do you want?"  Bodie was inside him, but he wasn't moving.

"Your attention." Bodie made a small thrust—as if to keep him on the boil. Doyle gritted his teeth.

"You have that. Is this what you were planning?"

"Well, maybe not _exactly_ this...."

"Would you get the... _fuck_!  That's good...on with it!"

You said it came down to trust. You and me."

"It does." He tried to move his own hand down to his needy cock, but Bodie was in the way.

"Not yet." Bodie's cock slid out of him, except for the tip. "I trust you every day.

"It's not—"

"I bloody well trusted you today."  Bodie thrust into him hard, and Doyle gasped.

"I—" Bodie was moving in him again, slow and deep, and he felt waves of sensation rolling into his cock.

"I trusted you with my life. Trusted your judgement."

"I...know."

“You and your bloody one good copper—who barely got there in time."

"You think I wasn't—ahh!  You think I didn't blame myself at the gravel pit?"

"I don't want your sodding guilt. I want—"

Bodie's voice suddenly cut off, and Doyle smiled with a fierce sort of pleasure. He'd caused that break—it wasn't all under Bodie's control.

Bodie nuzzled the back of his neck. "Bastard."

"We're equal partners, mate."

"Ray—"

"I know you trust me with your life. It's _my_ life—my choices—you have to trust me with."

"I do!"

"You can't...keep me out of it." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Oh yeah, _there_. Do that again. Bodie!"

Bodie slowed his movements.  "Talk to me and I'll make you come, Doyle."

"You…."

"Yeah, I know, but you're a twisty-minded bastard, aren't you?" Bodie resumed his rhythm. "I don't keep you out of it. I trust you—"

"You don't trust me to put _you_ first!"

"What?"

"Don't you stop, you fucker!" Doyle shoved back towards Bodie.

"Jesus, Doyle...." Bodie thrust into him, hard and strong, and finally Doyle felt himself rushing towards release. He cried out as he came at last, and for a few moments he knew nothing but vast, pleasured relief. The first sensation that registered with him from outside his own body was Bodie's arm pressed like an iron band around his chest. And Bodie was fucking him, finishing off in him, coming in him—his mouth open and wet on Doyle's shoulder. Doyle braced himself as best he could, but when Bodie finally pulled back, they slid together down the wall to the floor.

"What did you say?" Bodie peered at Doyle. He reached out and grabbed Doyle around the neck.

"Fuck."

Bodie shook him. "Doyle"

"I could have stopped you chasing after Forrest. I didn't. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"You said you couldn't—"

"I could have. I knew what you'd do, and that it could screw the case up. But you needed to do it."

Bodie blinked. "I wanted to keep you clean—keep you out of it."

"Maybe. But you were thinking more about Claire than me. You didn't trust me."

"No, I…."  But after a moment, Bodie looked down.

Doyle sighed. "It's all right. But when you came in, wanting to claim me.... We're partners before we're lovers. Equal partners."

Bodie looked at him, and his thumb moved on Doyle's skin. "I trusted you today—went with your gamble."

"I know. I—"

Bodie shook him again, and Doyle closed his mouth.  "Then listen to me. I trusted you with my life _and_ with yours today. Think about that, eh?"  Bodie took in a deep breath.  "But, lovers or not, I'm _your_ partner first."

Doyle stared at him.

"Do you understand me? We're bloody equals, and damn good on the job. But I'll sacrifice everything else before I'll sacrifice you. Remember that."

Doyle shook his head. "Bodie…."

But Bodie pulled them together, kissed him and stopped the words in his throat. And Doyle let him, because he didn't know what he'd say. Eventually, Bodie broke the kiss. "Can we leave now?"

"After we finish packing."

"Maybe Cowley won't notice if we don't bring back _all_ the boxes."

"He'll notice."  Doyle pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he did so.

"It seems you're out of shape, Four-five."

"At least I'm standing, Three-seven."

Bodie used the wall to help him stand up, while Doyle dressed.

Doyle tossed Bodie his trousers and moved over to the remaining stacks of boxes. "Two more trips should do it."

Bodie groaned, but he pulled on his trousers and came over to pick up one one of the stacks. Doyle led the way to the door.

"Oi."

Doyle glanced back at Bodie.

He was looking around the office.  "It seems an appropriate place, doesn't it?"

"Appropriate for what?"

"Well, it's a new start for this place, right? For the whole city, really."  He smirked at Doyle. "We just gave them a sort of Christening, don't you think?"

"Started them on the path back to sex and sodomy, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Then our job here is done. Let's go home." 


	19. Coda to Rogue

"Oh. Christ. Bodie!"  Doyle gripped him tightly, and any restraint he'd had was lost.

Bodie smiled as Doyle came in him, his heart still thundering from his own release, his body feeling heavy and used. Doyle was a dead weight on his back, and there was a cramp in his leg, yet he felt no inclination to move.  He'd waited weeks for this.

"Are you all right?"  Doyle, his voice sounding sluggish, pulled away from him.

Bodie winced as Doyle's cock slid out of him, and he turned onto his side, extending his legs carefully.

"Bodie?" Doyle's tone was sharp, and he held on to Bodie's arm.

Bodie opened his eyes and saw Doyle sitting beside him, a frown on his face.  He smiled again, and reached out to touch Doyle's mouth.  "Berk. What do you think?"

Doyle's frown turned into a grin, and he stretched out on his back beside Bodie.  "That you're ready for the street again."

"Doyle-certified, eh?"

"Don't think I'll be joining you, though.  I'm shattered."

"Oh, shame. And here I am, ready for round two."

"Yeah, well."  Doyle yawned and closed his eyes.  "Don't wake me up."

"I never fancied necrophilia.  Still, I could give it a go."

Doyle opened his eyes and  turned his head to look at him. "If you can get it up, I'm flogging you to science.  I could make my fortune."

"Cowley would demand half."

"Cowley would sell you himself if it made up for the budget shortfall."

"Don't give him any more ideas.  He's been obsessing over every penny since Barry Martin…."  He trailed off, regretting that he'd brought the name up.  It had been more than six weeks since Martin's death, and Doyle still hadn't come to terms with it.

"Yeah, well.  It hit him hard, didn't it?"  Doyle yawned again.  "Will you let me sleep now?"

Bodie pushed himself up on his elbow, leaned over, and kissed him.  "Poor old man. Wore you out, did I?"

"Yes."  Bodie twitched as Doyle's hand found a tender spot.  "And you, too."  Doyle's hand moved to the fresh scar on Bodie's chest.  "Should put lotion on that."  His expression was sombre.

"It's fine. It was clean. I've had worse."

"Yeah, I know. You should stay away from knives, mate."

"And you guns, apparently."

"Especially when I hesitate."

"Ray."  Bodie touched Doyle's mouth.  "Save it."

Doyle bit his finger.  "Tired of me already, are you?"

Bodie settled onto his back. "Oh, yeah."  He closed his eyes.

"I noticed that earlier."  The mattress dipped as Doyle moved away.  From the sounds of it, he was rummaging in the bedside cabinet.

"When you were coming in me?"

Doyle returned to Bodie's side.  "When you were yelling my name.  Hold your breath, sunshine."

Bodie opened his eyes as Doyle put lotion onto the scar where Martin's knife had gone in.  "Bit cold, isn't it?"

"It'll warm up soon enough."  Doyle massaged the scar, and Bodie closed his eyes again.  He could hear the distant rumble of early morning traffic, and sparrows chirping closer to hand.  It was quiet and peaceful in Doyle's flat, but he knew Doyle was thinking about Barry Martin—running over the same ground yet again. When the hell was he going to move on?

"You weren't as surprised by Barry."

Bodie sighed.  "I wasn't as close to him. While he was teaching you army tactics I was being subjected to police procedures."

"And hating every moment of it. You know I saw Harrison a few weeks ago.  He seemed surprised you were still with the Squad."

"Did he?"

"'Cowley doesn't still have that nutter on his roster, does he?' Those were his exact words."

"Ah. Good to be remembered."

"It seems a long time ago, doesn't it?  Things change."  Doyle was silent for a moment.  "That's what Maggie says, too."

Bodie opened his eyes.  "Maggie?"

"Yeah.  Barry's—"

"I remember.  I know you saw her the once, but...."

"I ran into her at my local."  Doyle bent and kissed the scar, then lay back on the bed.  "I was going to tell you—I'm meeting her for dinner tonight."

"Are you."

"You've got a date with...what's her name?  Liz...?"

"Lisa. And that's not—" Bodie broke off.  He rolled to his side and onto his elbow again.  "It's a little...close, isn't it?"

"She's lonely. She and Barry were together a couple of years." Doyle shrugged. "She says she feels...safe with me."

"Safe." Bodie grinned, although inside he felt no amusement.  "Well, I always knew it was me she _fancied_."

"Oh, yes?  And who has her phone number?"

"Cowley, actually. It's in the records."

"Thank you for that thought."

"You asked."  Bodie took in a breath.  "Ray…."  But what could he say?  They were both reticent when talking about current girlfriends these days.

"What is it?"  Doyle was looking at him, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing.  You'd think she'd want to stay as far away from CI5 as she could get."

"Yeah, I know. But she says she doesn't blame us.  It's Cowley she's bitter about." Doyle shook his head.  "She really loved Barry. Says there's a hole in her life."

"And you're going to fill it?"  Bodie's left hand, out of Doyle's sight, clenched.

"She just needs someone to talk to."

"She didn't strike me as the talking sort."

"Bodie."

"Yeah, all right. Just...be careful, eh? That's a hell of a rebound."

"I think we both like remembering a different Barry."

"He was always the man you knew—both good and bad."

"We're coming to realise that. It helps."  Doyle yawned and closed his eyes.

Bodie stared at the ceiling while Doyle's breathing settled into a steady rhythm. Doyle had been blindsided by Martin's betrayal—perhaps even more than Cowley had been. Doyle had faced corruption on the police force, had lost friends in the process.  He could be a cynical bastard, and his self-protective walls rivalled Bodie's for strength. Bodie often wondered if betrayal had played a role in the beating that had led to Doyle's shattered cheekbone—the beating Doyle never talked about, other than to admit it happened. Yet for all that, Doyle had trusted in Barry—had believed, perhaps, that CI5 would be different from the police force.

_Barry Martin. I'd never have believed it. Never._

Very few men were incorruptible. Doyle and Cowley were the only two Bodie knew. And maybe it was their own natures that sometimes blinded them: Cowley had let Martin get the drop on him; Doyle had hesitated to shoot. _We're coming to realise that. It helps._ To realise that good and bad were intertwined? That it was all right to remember the friend while condemning the choices he'd made?  He would thank Maggie if she kept Doyle from bitterness and self-doubt over Martin. But Maggie had her own secrets, didn't she? And Doyle had faced enough disillusionment recently.

Bodie glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing seven in the morning. He got up from the bed, found his clothes, and headed for the loo.  Cleaned, shaved, and dressed, he stood for a moment in the gloom of the bedroom. Doyle was a lump in the centre of the bed. Bodie turned towards the door.

"So much for round two." 

Bodie paused.  "I have some errands to run. You know how it is. Day off."

He heard Doyle sigh. "Yeah."

"Shall I pick you up tomorrow?"

Doyle didn't answer right away.  "No.  I...don't know where I'll be."

Bodie didn't let his dismay appear in his voice.  "Right.  I'll see you at work."  And he got himself out of the room, and out of Doyle's flat.  Once in his car, as he threaded his way through early morning traffic, Bodie considered his options.  Maggie wasn't stupid—he'd better have more than one contingency plan. He gripped the steering wheel as if it were Maggie's neck.

She was in the same flat they'd visited when they had hunted for Martin.  But this time when Maggie opened the door to him, she had on more clothes and less makeup.

"Oh. You."  Her voice was unenthusiastic.  Her gaze shifted to behind him. "Where's your shadow?"

"In bed, I imagine. Are you going to let me in?"

"That depends on what you're here for."

"Something that will benefit us both."

She looked at him, the door partially open, clearly hesitating.

"You wouldn't like it if I forced my way in."

Her eyes widened and her tongue brushed her lower lip.  Bodie leaned forward.  "You think you would. But remember, I don't play by your rules."

She backed away. "Come in then, if you must."

He entered the flat and closed the door behind him.  The morning sunlight was streaming into the room, turning it bright and welcoming. Maggie was dressed in a cream angora batwing sweater with white jeans tucked into knee-high boots.  She walked to the centre of the room, then turned to face him. Her back was straight, and she radiated confidence.  At another time he might have admired her poise.

"How are you, Maggie?"

"I'm perfect." She raised her eyebrows. "You said it would benefit us both?"

"I'm here to give you what you want."

Her expression didn't change.  "Which is?"

He walked towards her. "Someone who understands what it is you need. Someone who...matches your need."

"And what do you imagine you'll get out of it?"

He let his gaze drift over her body.

Her eyes flickered, and again her tongue touched her lower lip. "You said no."

He brushed his knuckles down her cheek and watched as her eyes closed briefly.  "It's not me."

Her head jerked back. "What?"

"I have a name for you."

"A name."  She stepped away from him.  "Well, I'm not interested."

"Aren't you?"  He followed her, crowding into her personal space. "But you wanted me to change my mind."

"Get out."

"Someone safe and discreet."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't need your help."

"That's not what you said a week ago.”

"My mistake."

"Doyle won't satisfy you."

She stiffened, then stared at him. "Oh, is _that_ what this is about?  You turned me down. Ray—"

"He doesn't mix pain and sex."

"He's open-minded."

Fuck, had she asked him already?  "That may be, but the man I know has experience."

She moved away from him.  "Experience isn't everything. I'm sure Ray's a fast learner."

"He's not your type—and that does matter to you."

She shrugged.  "Needs must."  She tilted her head as she looked at him.  "This isn't about me at all, is it?"  Her eyes widened.  "Barry was right about you!"

"And he was such a fine judge of character."

"You want to fuck Ray."  She laughed.  "You're jealous!"

He kept his face expressionless.  "I said it would benefit us both."

She moved towards him, and confidence was back in her bearing.  "Well, well. Does he know?" She walked around him, her hand brushed his shoulder. "You are doing him, aren't you?"

"Is it a deal?"

"Let me see if I have this right. I leave Doyle alone—don't tell him what Barry and I were to each other. And in return...I get some faceless name I'm supposed to trust."

"That's it."

"Whereas I'd much rather have you."  She swept a look over him.

"I'm not—"

"Into those games. Yes, so you said."  She touched his face, tracing his jawline.  "But you've done it before.  And it turned you on, didn't it?  Binding someone?  Having them completely in your control?  Using clamps and restraints...the whip."  She moved in closer, whispering in his ear.  "Knowing that you're controlling the pain and the pleasure, driving them crazy—driving _him_ crazy.  Have you pictured him, Bodie?  All eyes and gasping, every nerve in his body exploding, begging you—"

He grabbed her arm, his grip tight enough to bruise.  Her eyes flashed, but her breathing quickened.  He flung her away from him. "Is it a deal?"

She rubbed her arm. "I keep Ray out of my bedroom, and you...?" She trailed off, her eyebrows raised.

"Set you up with someone safe and discreet."

"But I've a hold over you—not your someone."

"I could kill you."

"No. Maybe you'd kill to save his life, but not for this."  She moved closer to him.  "You fancied me from the start.  Make the deal Bodie—me and Ray."

He shook his head.  "No."

She lifted her chin. "Well then. I quite fancy taking on the role of seducer and teacher.  He might forget all about you—or you might just be an unintended beneficiary."

"No."

"What are you afraid of?  That he'll like it too much?  Like me too much?  Want a threesome?"

"I don't share."

"And you want him all to yourself. Well, you know what the deal is. Satisfy me, and you can have him."

He walked towards her, and she retreated until her back was against the wall. "You're not in the position you think you're in."

"I'm not a fool. I only trust when there are guarantees."

"I did some checking. I know who gave you this flat, and why."  He saw the shock in her eyes.  "One call and I can blow that deal sky high."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but I would."

"Damn you."  She pushed against him and he let her move away.

He took in a breath. "So. A name."

"Why should I trust you? Why give me something when you had that threat all along?"

Bodie sighed. "Because despite what it seems, I understand the position you're in.  Look, I've nothing against you.  I couldn't care less what you do with your life or who you do it with."

"As long as it's not Doyle."

He said nothing to that.

"Don't you think he can make that decision himself?"

Bodie shrugged.  "Why should he?  He doesn't fit your particular needs—you're just desperate."

"Fine."  She looked away a moment, then back.  "Deal. What's the name?"

Bodie pulled a slip of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

She took it.  "Safe, you said?"

"And discreet."

"He'd better be all you say he is."  She looked down at the paper in her hand.  "I liked talking to Ray.  Just...talking. It helped."

He reached out, lifted her chin.  "And that's why it's an even trade."  He bent and kissed her briefly.  "Goodbye, Maggie."

He left her behind in the flat, walked to his car and settled into the driver's seat.  His hand shook as he put it on the steering wheel, and he cursed.

 _All eyes and gasping, every nerve in his body exploding, begging_ —

Fuck. He started the car and headed for his flat.  Sometimes, a man needed his illusions.


	20. Coda to Not a Very Civil Civil Servant

"Bodie."  It was the first word Doyle had spoken since they'd arrived at Bodie's flat. For all intents and purposes, it was the first word he'd said since he'd defended himself to Cowley: _At what cost?_

Bodie started to turn, but Doyle's hands stopped him, his fingers digging in to Bodie's biceps. Bodie held himself still, said nothing, and waited for Doyle to guide him.  He owed him that; he owed him his life. But he would have waited regardless—whatever Doyle needed.  One of Doyle's hands moved to his back, although the other still gripped him.  He felt Doyle's fingers gliding, as if tracing—fuck.  He was tracing the bruises that Renshaw and Drake had given Bodie, added on to those from the pub fight.  _All in a day's work, sunshine_ —a bloody good day, they'd thought.  But Doyle's fingers weren't steady, and the worst of the bruising couldn't be seen on his skin—or on Doyle's.

 

_"Just an old fashioned pirate."_

_"If you want to take a romantic view of it."  Cowley walked away as Doyle moved in close to Bodie.  Doyle's look said it all, and Bodie smiled.  A bloody good day.  There was extra satisfaction in taking down men like Sir James and Logan-Blake._

_Bodie nudged Doyle.  "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Even the paperwork?"_

_"That's the sort of paperwork I like."_

_"Ah, well, you could put in for the Fraud Squad, then."_

_Doyle slanted a look at him.  "And what would you do without me, eh?_

 

"Ray."

Doyle stilled, as if caught doing something he shouldn't. After a moment, he moved closer to Bodie, and his arm wrapped around him.  Doyle unbuttoned Bodie's trousers, reached inside, and stroked his cock.  Bodie closed his eyes, his breath catching.  Yes.  He'd wanted this for days—every time he'd glanced at Doyle and had seen an answering gleam in his eyes.  They were always in sync when it came to their bodies, just like on the job.

Bodie widened his stance, giving Doyle better access to him.  Doyle moved his hand up and down Bodie's lengthening cock. Bodie sighed, moved with Doyle, and reached behind him to pull Doyle closer. He wanted to feel Doyle against him—hot and ready.  Doyle was still dressed, although his shirt was unbuttoned. He moved as if to evade Bodie's touch, and a moment later Bodie realised Doyle wasn't hard.

"Doyle?"  He tried again to turn, but Doyle blocked the move.  Bodie stood within his hold, his breath coming quickly, his body tense. "Not alone, Ray."  He took a sideways step towards the bed, relieved when Doyle moved with him. "Not without you."  He took another step, and Doyle followed. He pushed his trousers and pants off, and slid into the bed without looking at Doyle.  The cool sheet was a shock to his heated skin, and he hissed as he settled on his stomach.  Doyle was still beside the bed, still dressed.

Bodie rested his head on his arms, and closed his eyes. He'd coaxed Doyle into the flat, he'd coax him into bed.  He couldn't keep the tension from his body, couldn't help but feel exposed, but he held to the sound of Doyle saying his name, as if it had been torn from him.

 

_"Bodie!"_

_He dropped to the ground before the shout faded, his heart in overdrive.  He heard the report of a gun behind him, and overlapping it was Doyle's Browning. Bodie rolled, then risked a look behind him. Drake was on his back on the ground. The B Squad members who had had had him in charge were also on the ground, but Simmons was climbing to his feet.  Bodie looked the other way and saw Doyle lowering his gun arm.  Bodie pushed himself up from the ground.  A flare of pain caused him to put his hand to his neck. He felt blood, but a quick examination told him it was little more than a graze.  Christ, they'd been lucky. He looked again at Drake, and saw Simmons give the signal that Drake was dead.  It served the bastard right._

_"Owe you one," Bodie said as he walked to Doyle's side._

_"What the fuck were they playing at?" Doyle's eyes narrowed as he looked at Bodie.  He holstered his gun and moved to Bodie's side. He touched the bullet graze, and looked at the blood on his hand.  "I had him cuffed, dammit."_

_"Doyle!"  Cowley stalked towards them, his expression grim. Sir James followed in Cowley's wake, a small smile on his face._

_"Thank you for the opening, Mr Cowley." Sir James looked from Doyle's gun to Drake's body. "Very sporting of you."_

_"As you said, Sir James, it will be a pleasure to do battle with you in court. You might notice, however, that my man is bleeding. Are you all right, Bodie?"_

_"I'll live, sir."_

_Cowley nodded.  "Simmons."_

_"Sir." Simmons trotted over to them. "Sir, it was—"r32;r32;"Escort Sir James to the house."  Cowley turned to Sir James.  "You understand, I am certain, Sir James."_

_"Of course. This is a crime scene now, is it not?  A not unusual consequence of CI5 action, I believe."  Sir James, accompanied by Simmons, walked to the house."_

_Cowley turned back to them.  "Did you have to go for the kill, Doyle?"_

_"Sir!"  It was the other B Squad member, Morley.  He was holding a hand to his head.  "I'm sorry, sir.  Drake broke away from me—took my gun—"_

_"Aye.  I shall want a full report from you and Simmons back at HQ. In the meanwhile, radio for Malone.  I want everything documented—by the book."  He looked at Bodie and Doyle as Morley trudged away.  "It may be excessive force, but at least we have some justification for it. You'll ride back to HQ with me. I want an explanation from you, Doyle."  He walked away, shouting for Morley._

_Bodie glanced at Drake's body, then back at Doyle.  He shook his head  "Trust you, mate.  Father's not happy you saved me."_

_Doyle looked at him, lips pressed tightly together.  He turned and strode towards Cowley's car.  Bodie raised his eyebrows and followed._

 

It seemed a very long time before Bodie heard Doyle undressing. The bed dipped as Doyle joined him, and his body welcomed Doyle's touch, tentative as it was. Doyle's fingers skimmed over the contours of his back and arse. They were followed by his mouth, and Bodie let himself relax into the familiar warmth of Doyle. Whatever Doyle's problem had been, he could leave it behind here. Bodie murmured his approval, and he felt Doyle's hardening cock slide against him. Bodie had to move, rubbing his cock against the mattress, wanting more.  He rolled, reached for Doyle, and met resistance. Once again, Doyle wouldn't let him face him. Bodie moaned in protest, but he ended up on his stomach again. Doyle lay on top of him, pressing him into the bed.

"All right, you bastard. All right."  Bodie breathed in.  "I won't turn. But get on with it, would you?"

Doyle kissed him between his shoulder blades, then worked his way up to his neck, licking and nipping.  Bodie shivered at the sensations rippling down his spine. But he flinched as Doyle brushed against the scrape on his neck. Doyle froze.

Fuck. "Ray—"  He moved, and was blocked.  Anger bloomed deep in his belly.  "Sod off, Doyle."  He struggled, but Doyle held the advantage. Bodie lay beneath him, panting.  Doyle's hot cock was snug in the small of his back.  He wriggled, pulling a small gasp from Doyle, but no movement.  He didn't understand what Doyle needed, but he could feel the tension radiating from him.  It had been building since the car ride with Cowley.

 

_"Why, Doyle?"_

Bodie spoke before Doyle. "Drake had Morley's gun. He fired it."

"I know that, Bodie, but—"

Bodie tightened his hands on the steering wheel.  "What did you want him to do, let Drake kill me?"  He glanced at Doyle, who was staring out the windscreen.

"He had already warned you. You were down."

"And in that situation you bloody well shoot to kill."

"And Sir James has a legitimate query.  It's not that long ago that it was CI5 in court, defending ourselves against a charge of excessive force—"

"It's not the same!  Drake was armed."  Bodie shot another glance at Doyle, something cold and hard in his stomach.

"Aye. And at the best we bungled the arrest.  At the worst, we killed a man we could have subdued."

"At what cost?" Doyle finally spoke.

"Your lives, in the eyes of Joe Public, are expendable."

Bodie snorted. "And a villain's isn't?"

"We'll be fine if we make the case stick. If not...."  Cowley's voice trailed off, and Bodie caught a glimpse of his face in the rear view mirror.

"It will stick, sir."

"Pray it does, Bodie. For all our sakes."

 

"I'm sorry."  He wasn't sure for what—trying to turn, or nearly getting killed.  Maybe for the whole situation they found themselves in.  It hadn't been his fault; it hadn't been in their control.  But this was.

Bodie reached out to the bed post, and snagged the handcuffs he habitually placed there.  "You can make sure of it, eh?  Whatever you need, Ray. Trust me."  He dangled the handcuffs within Doyle's reach.

Doyle's forehead dipped to Bodie's back, and the kiss Doyle gave him raised goosebumps.  Doyle took the handcuffs.  Bodie shivered. He hated being bound—had once sworn he would never allow it to happen to him again.  And yet he'd let himself be taken and handcuffed when Doyle had asked him to believe in one good copper.  And he'd let Doyle have him now.  He stretched out his arm, waiting for Doyle to get on with it.

Instead, he felt another kiss, and then Doyle flung the handcuffs across the room.  Bodie heard them strike the wall.  Doyle kissed down his spine to his arse.  His fingers probed, and spread him, and Bodie's cock jumped with renewed interest.  He lifted himself up to his knees. Doyle surrounded him, cradled him, and took his cock with one hand.

"That's right.  Oh fuck, Ray.  Do it."  He gasped as Doyle pushed into him, and braced his arms.  "Give me—"  He broke off, panting, willing the initial resistance to subside, dammit.  "Go on."  He heard the strain in his own voice, and wasn't surprised when Doyle didn't move.  "Fuck you!"  He shoved back, and Doyle's hand clenched on his cock. They both cried out, and he felt a surge of triumph that overrode the pain. "That's right.  Harder.  Take it all out...in me. Ahh…. Christ."  Sensation spiralled through him—familiar, age-old, and yet different every time.  He sensed Doyle's despair and anger as he drove into him, while still not fully understanding.  They shared it, as they shared the rising tide of lust, and the drive for release that took nearly every other thought away.

Every thrust of Doyle's sent a jolt through him, but he needed more stimulation. He put his own hand on his cock—his grip joining Doyle's.  One arm wasn't enough to brace them, and they fell forward with Doyle's next push. Bodie landed on his head, his neck at an uncomfortable angle. But the pressure on his cock was enough now, and he groaned as a charge went through him—from his arse, to his balls, to his cock. His seed burst from him, and he held himself still, riding the wave of release.

Doyle slowed his movements as well, as if gliding on the eddies of Bodie's climax.  He kissed Bodie's back, and moved his hand to Bodie's hip, rubbing gently.

"Ray."  He said the name on a sigh, not certain if Doyle could hear him. He reached back with his hand, wanting to feel him—to finally be the one offering a caress. It was awkward, but his fingers touched Doyle's thigh, and lingered.

"Bodie."  And there was so much in the tone of voice Doyle used, that Bodie didn't protest as Doyle pulled out of him. Doyle turned him on to his back, and Bodie caught little more than a glimpse of his face before Doyle kissed him.  The kiss was hard and intimate, joining them as surely as Doyle's cock had before.

Bodie's hands roamed over Doyle's back, and up his arms to his shoulders. He held on tightly for a moment, then pushed him back.  "Finish it."  He forced his legs to move, draping them over Doyle's shoulders, getting himself into position with Doyle's help.  A moment later, Doyle slid into him again.

This was how he'd wanted it—able to see Doyle, and the shifting expressions on his face as he pounded into Bodie.  Doyle was close—he could see it in the way he closed and opened his eyes, in the way his mouth fell open.  Bodie put his hand to Doyle's cheek, cupping him, stroking his jaw.  "Come on, Ray.  Fuck me.  Feel it.  Damn you."  He grunted at the force of Doyle's thrusts, read the anguish in his face.  He moved his hand to Doyle's shoulder. "Come on, you bastard. C'mon love."

And he saw it then in Doyle's face—the reason why he hadn't wanted Bodie to turn around, to see him.  Doyle's eyes locked with his in a searing gaze.  And for once he understood everything he saw—like he would in a firefight.  He saw more than Doyle would ever have wanted him to see.  When Doyle's eyes closed, he felt both relieved and bereft.  Christ!  What the fuck were they playing with?

He grabbed hold of Doyle's shoulder, fingers biting as Doyle's had bitten into his skin earlier.  It seemed to trigger something in Doyle.  He was down to the short strokes, and the words started tumbling from his lips.  "It's not bloody worth it!  Not worth the cost!  Damn you. Bastard.  Fucking job!"  With an intake of breath, Doyle stilled. He stayed motionless, while inside him Bodie felt Doyle's release—all the anger, all the despair, all the bloody, dangerous attachment—made physical between them. No wonder Doyle had been quiet in the car, unable to answer Cowley.  At what bloody cost were they doing this?

"Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck."  Doyle collapsed on top of Bodie. "Fucking job. It was over! It was sodding—"  He broke off, his mouth on Bodie's diaphragm, one hand on Bodie's side, the other clenched into a fist.

"It's never over."  Bodie rubbed Doyle's shoulders.  "Never over."

"For Christ's sake, Bodie."  It was a whisper, but the anguish was clear.

He held Doyle while a shudder passed through him.  He held him, and stroked him, as Doyle's breathing slowly settled, and his muscles softened. He felt the flutter of eyelashes, and the scrape of stubble on his stomach.  Neither of them slept.


	21. Coda to A Stirring of Dust

"Doyle, we'll meet you and Lewis—with Darby's body—tomorrow morning.  Bodie, pick me up at 0900. Sharp."

"Yes, sir."  They said it in unison as Cowley climbed out of the car.  Doyle took his place in the passenger seat, and Bodie pulled out into traffic.

"Afraid he'll change his mind about dismissing us?"  Doyle held on to the hand grip as Bodie accelerated.

"With the mood he's in?  Yes."

Doyle considered the gleam he'd seen in Cowley's eyes.  "You could be right.  He wasn't happy to find Darby dead, though."

"No, but he's thinking about Yashinkov now."

"And the gift he'll be bringing Yashinkov."

"Some gift."  Bodie paused at the entrance to a roundabout.  "How's he supposed to transport it?" 

"Yashinkov will know.  He's got a man in place, just like we've got Lewis."

"Yeah, I reckon.  Get a move on, granddad!"  Bodie drove across the roundabout.

"Where are we going, anyway?"

There was a pause before Bodie answered.  "Your place."

Doyle kept his smile to himself. "We'll have to get food in."

"Ray—"

"There's a new Chinese place opened up not that far from me.  We could try that."  They could make a night of it—as they hadn't done in too long.

Bodie changed down a gear as they came up to another roundabout.  "Yeah, maybe."

There was silence in the car for a mile or more, until Doyle broke it.  "Do you reckon they would have killed him?"

Bodie shrugged.

"It's not as if killing is new to them." Doyle looked at him.

"Yeah, but it's different when it's in cold blood and years after."

"Vengeance is a dish—"

"Best served cold. Yeah, possibly so.  I could see the Brigadier doing it—his section was destroyed, thanks to Darby. He lost everything because of the taint."

Doyle rubbed at a spot on the door handle.  "Sorenson had a partner."

Bodie glanced at him, but when he turned his head, Bodie was looking out the windscreen.  "That lot didn't work in teams."

"All right, then—a contact.  In Berlin.  I read about it in the files. They'd worked together for five years."

Bodie let out a low whistle.  "That's forever in that business."

"He was picked up the same time as Sorenson.  He didn't survive."

After a moment, Bodie said, "And yet Sorenson didn't kill Darby when he had the chance."

"No, but he collected the others. He grabbed Darby.  He brought Darby to them to be executed."

"And instead...."

"They let him die of natural causes."  Doyle looked at the slanting light—a sunset that Darby would never see.  "Maybe they found some peace in it."

"Or they said they let him die."

Doyle looked at him.  "You reckon...?"

Bodie shrugged again.

Doyle kept his eyes on Bodie's profile.  "Sorenson had nothing in him but the desire for vengeance. Maybe he's free of it at last."

"Or maybe he has nothing."

Doyle nodded, and let the conversation lapse.  It might have been Bodie left alone today. The only reason O'Leary and Callinari had let him live was because they knew Bodie would come running if he heard a gunshot. It had seemed likely that O'Leary planned to use Doyle as a decoy when Helen arrived.  He'd shoot Doyle, and while Bodie was storming the front door, he'd escape with Helen out the back.  Doyle had upset the plan by shoving Callinari through the window—but he'd been damned lucky, and they both knew it.

Too close. It seemed their lives were ruled by that phrase—too close calls; too close to each other.  He'd had it brought home to him most recently when he'd seen Drake pointing the gun at Bodie's defenceless back. Bodie had had it brought home today. And yet...was it any different than when he'd heard the call about Bodie being knifed?  Would he have felt less gutted then?  He'd gone on his own version of vengeance in the Zadi case.  No.  He'd been "too close" to Bodie for years.

Well, he'd have Bodie to himself tonight.  There'd be time to do it properly; time to help Bodie get the day out of his system.  In the last week or more they'd only found snatches of time together—desperate fumbles and kisses.  Some of those stolen moments had been dangerous and stupid.  The last had been just before they'd met Cowley for the Yashinkov meeting.  He'd had to button his shirt to hide the marks Bodie had left. "Go on past my place to get to that takeaway."

"Ray."  Bodie paused, and Doyle felt his stomach tighten, as if aware of sudden danger.

"What?"

"It's been a long day, eh?  I'm just going to go home."

Doyle nodded.  "All right. Another time."  It was no big deal.  Bodie had been quiet since the O'Leary shootout.  And yet...Bodie wasn't looking at him. "Tomorrow night?"

"I've got a date."  Bodie's tone was nonchalant, but Doyle saw his fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

"Who's that, then?"

"You don't—"  Bodie caught himself up.  His lips tightened.

It felt like a weight had suddenly descended on him. He knew what this was. "I said I wouldn't tie you down, mate."  His voice, at least, sounded normal.

"Doyle—"

"Tell me straight out, eh Bodie?  I know something's been bothering you."  It had been ever since the Drake fiasco—ever since he'd been fool enough to stay when he should have gone home.

And Bodie said what Doyle feared he would.  "Look, I just think we should cool it.  Right?"

"Cool it."

"I'm not saying—"  Bodie braked sharply as a Mini cut him up.  "Wanker!"  He changed gear and moved on with less than his customary smoothness.  "I still want...to be with you."

"Partners?  Or...."

"Christ, Doyle.  Of course partners."  Now Bodie looked at him—a quick, intent glance.  "I'm not working with anyone else."

There was no lessening of the tension within him.  "I see."

"But I need...space."

He wasn't going to let Bodie know how this was affecting him. He had that much pride, at least.  "Yeah.  Okay."

"Okay?"

"What did you expect, Bodie?"  Anger was far better than desperation. 

"I...."  Bodie pulled the car to a stop, and double-parked in front of Doyle's flat. "Look, I—"

"Right.  See you tomorrow, eh?  Don't be late for Father."  He made his hand lift the latch, and push the car door open.

"Doyle, wait."

Doyle put one hand on the roof of the car, and leaned down to look at Bodie. "I get it. Don't worry."  He nodded, closed the door, and walked away.  He heard the car idling as he climbed the steps to his block.  By the time he unlocked the door, Bodie had driven away.  He paused a moment before he opened the door, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

He should have expected it. He _did_ bloody expect it.  Christ, but it still hurt—and he was angry about that. Angry with Bodie and angry with himself.  Doyle got himself into his block and up the stairs to the privacy of his flat.  He pushed the door closed, and leaned against it.  Idiot—damn fool of an idiot.  He'd known it. He'd known that Bodie would feel smothered—trapped—if he saw what Doyle felt for him.  Fuck it.  He'd _known_. But that night...he'd needed Bodie.  And he'd needed to match Bodie's trust. Ah, fuck it. Fuck.

He pushed off the door, and walked into his flat, through the living room, and into the kitchen.  He stood there a moment, then turned and walked out to the loo.  No one lasted long with Bodie—no organisation, no person.  While it lasted, Bodie was loyal—he'd never known Bodie to date two birds at the same time.  But it never lasted.  There was never anything to tie Bodie down.  A friend for life he might be—just don't expect him to be there every sodding day.

_I'm not working with anyone else._

Bodie wasn't leaving. Doyle breathed in, and walked back to the kitchen. He made himself beans and cheese on toast. He'd get to the shops tomorrow, unless another crisis intervened. His laundry needed doing as well.

_I just think we should cool it._

What the fuck did that mean? End it?  They'd neither of them stopped seeing birds. Okay, he hadn't had a date since....  Christ, it had been weeks.  Maggie was the last—if you could even call that a date. Why bother with a chat up when he'd rather—sod it.

Doyle put his plate in the sink and headed for the shower. Bodie wasn't leaving, but he was feeling...constrained. Fair enough. Doyle had agreed: keep it light and uncomplicated. He'd violated that—okay.  He should have gone home after Drake; should have kept Bodie from seeing his expression. But what did Bodie want?  A complete stop? Or maybe Doyle on Wednesdays, birds on the other days? How the hell would that work?  He wouldn't allow himself to be a convenient fuck—available whenever Bodie wanted him. Screw that.

The water was hot, and it cleared the grime of the day from his body, if not his mind.  Maybe Bodie was backing off. Losing interest—and that burned.  He wouldn't have thought it from the way Bodie had grabbed him at the warehouse before Cowley arrived. But they hadn't spent a night together since—fuck.  Wasn't he allowed one bloody mistake?

He was drying himself off when he noticed the bruises on his arm.  He stared at himself in the mirror, then down at his skin.  _All right?_   Bodie's voice echoed in his head—after they'd lost O'Leary and Helen, after the Russians had intervened.  There had been no time for it at the house.  He'd been shouting Bodie's name through the tape that had covered his mouth.  Bodie had arrived, had cut him free, and they'd both been intent on finding O'Leary and Helen.  But afterwards, in that pause before they'd returned to the house—Bodie had asked him: _All right?_  And he'd grabbed Doyle's upper arm, as if he'd needed to feel the blood coursing through Doyle's body.

Attachment—bloody possessive attachment.  He remembered Bodie's hands on him when he'd been in hospital after Crabbe had run him over.  He remembered Bodie's kiss after Preston had nearly killed him. But now, instead of wanting to fuck him through the sheets, Bodie wanted to cool it?

All right. If he didn't want to end it completely, then they still had the deal. Doyle wouldn't try to hold him, wouldn't tie him down. In return, Bodie would bloody well acknowledge what it was between them.  Attraction, attachment—call it what you will. They'd find a place on the line between convenience and commitment—somewhere they both felt comfortable. It was Bodie's call.r32;r32;

 

*****

 

Doyle knew precisely when Bodie arrived with Cowley in the car. "They're here," he said to Lewis.

Lewis nodded but had nothing to say. They'd brought Darby's body to the warehouse, and placed the casket as Cowley had ordered.  Yesterday, Lewis had been almost animated—making a ponderous joke about Doyle having fastened all the buttons on his shirt. This morning, he'd hardly exchanged a word with Doyle, and his expression had been wary. Doyle wondered if his mood was as easy to read as it seemed, or if he'd misjudged Lewis' perception.

"Doyle. Lewis."  Cowley was rubbing his hands as he exited the stairwell—a sure sign of his anticipation of being one up on Yashinkov.

"Sir."  Doyle nodded, then glanced at Bodie, as he would have done any time in the past.  Bodie didn't meet his gaze.  The burn started again, deep inside Doyle.

"Lewis, a word with you." Cowley walked with Lewis towards the stairwell. Lewis would be in the observation post again, taping the conversation between Cowley and Yashinkov.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, as Cowley's voice faded.

"I see Cowley went with the utilitarian look for the casket."

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "Yeah."  Bodie was making bloody conversation with him!  "If you ask me if I slept well, I'm liable to shoot you."

Bodie sighed. "Doyle."

Doyle turned towards him, hands in his back pockets, hip canted.  He saw the familiar flare of interest in Bodie's eyes.  "So what, exactly, do you have in mind?"

Bodie looked away.  "I just—"

"Want to cool it. Yeah.  How, exactly?"

"I don't know."  Bodie took a step away.  "Christ, Doyle!"

"We have a deal."

Bodie turned back towards him, eyes narrowed.

"I'll hold up my end of it."  He let his eyes move down Bodie's body and back up.

"I said I still want you."  Bodie's voice was low, his expression closed.

"Just less often."

"I never took you for the clinging kind, Doyle."

Bodie would pay for that remark.  "I won't be convenient."

"You never have been."

"We play this by your rules, is that it?"

Bodie's chin lifted.  "Take it or leave it."

Their eyes met.  "Oh, I'll—"

"Doyle, Bodie. Yashinkov should be here shortly." Cowley walked across the warehouse floor towards them.

They all heard the R/T signal. "I believe that's him now, sir," Bodie said.

Cowley rubbed his hands again.  "Very well."

They took their customary positions with Cowley at the head, and Doyle and Bodie flanking him—farther apart than usual. Doyle could feel his heart beating in anticipation, but not for Yashinkov and his men.  It wasn't over—not by a long chalk. The challenge had been thrown down, and accepted—no holds barred, as long as they stayed within the deal. He saw movement across the floor and watched as Yashinkov approached, his two flunkies following close behind. Doyle narrowed his eyes. They had a score to settle with those two.

Yashinkov looked a little wary.  Cowley's voice was flat as he greeted him. "Hello, comrade."

"Hello tovarich."

"A lot has happened since we last met."

"It would seem so."

Cowley glanced at the casket. "There's the body of a dead man in this box.

Yashinkov looked down. "Colonel Thomas Darby, perhaps?"

"Yes. There's no record of his visit to London."

"Good."

"If you can get him back, unseen, to Moscow?"

Yashinkov nodded. "It can be arranged. The news of Comrade Colonel Thomas Darby's death—"

"Will be released sometime next week, by _Pravda._ "

"I imagine so."  A faint smile appeared on Yashinkov's face. "I think you will find that he died next Monday." 

Cowley could outdo anyone in affability, when he chose.  "I look forward to reading his obituary."

Yashinkov looked down again. "Were there any, uh...papers or documents...?" He looked back at Cowley.

Doyle felt Bodie's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on Cowley.

"None."  Cowley's tone was clipped and certain.

Yashinkov nodded.  "I understand.”

Doyle finally glanced at Bodie, but he was now looking at Yashinkov. Why the hell should Bodie be the one to dictate the terms?  

"I hope so, Grigor."

"Is there any more business?"  Yashinkov seemed eager to get on his way. Doyle shifted his gaze to Cowley. The bombshell would be dropped now.  He never tired of watching Cowley at work.

"Yes. I'm delivering someone to your Embassy tomorrow morning. A passenger for the next available Aeroflot flight to Moscow."

Yashinkov made a passable effort to look puzzled. "Who is that?

"Comrade The Right Honourable Paul Cantwell."

"Ah."  Doyle suppressed a smile. He knew how much the sound of that one word sang in Cowley's ears.

Cowley had himself well under control. "He is never to return to the United Kingdom."

"Very well."

"He's not very keen on going, but I'm sure you'll make him feel comfortable and at home."

"I understand the food at Lubyanka has improved considerably in the last few years. You should come over sometime, tovarich, and try it."

Cowley smiled. "Oh, I doubt if I'll get the opportunity, Grigor."

"Pity. Will that be all?"

"That's all." Game, set, and match to Cowley.

Yashinkov glanced behind him, and his men stepped forward for the usual formalities. Doyle moved to meet them, aware of Bodie matching him. He looked down at the hand his Russian counterpart held out to him.  "Ah."  He took the hand, and smiled without humour. "Next time, we'll ram your bloody car."

He heard Bodie's greeting to his own counterpart: "Up the Moscow Dynamos."

Yashinkov kept his eyes on Cowley.  "Until the next time, tovarich."

Cowley looked at him, then turned and headed for the exit. Doyle followed, with Bodie behind him. Cowley had lost the first skirmish with Yashinkov, but he'd won the battle. It was the battle that mattered. If Bodie thought he could have this all his own way, he'd swiftly be disabused of that notion.  Casual—yeah, he could do casual.  But that didn't mean they weren't involved. And if he wanted to show more than Bodie wanted to see?  Well, that was his business, and he could bloody well take care of himself.

Cowley and Doyle went through the doorway, and behind them they heard Bodie sneeze.  Cowley stopped and turned, and so Doyle did as well.

Bodie sniffed as he joined them, looking from Doyle to Cowley.  "Dust.  Gets right up me hooter."  He looked back at Doyle.  He was playing it as if everything was normal. Status quo. Well, two could play that game.

Cowley turned to leave, and Doyle followed suit.  Bodie trailed behind them, where he couldn't see Doyle smile.  Let the game begin.


	22. Coda to Blind Run

Bodie hid his dismay as he turned round to face Cowley.  The nurse he'd been talking to gathered her clipboard to her chest and scuttled away.  He wished he could follow suit.  "Sir."

"Here to check on Charlie?  Or is it Doyle?"

"Doyle's with—"

"Leila Bahjat.  Yes."

"How is Charlie, sir?"

"He is out of surgery and under observation. They'll know more tomorrow."

"He's not going to make it back onto the squad, though, is he?"

"No."  There was no inflection to the word.

Bodie put his hands in his jacket pockets.  "Was it worth it?"

Cowley looked at him a moment.  "Walk with me to my car."

Bodie moved beside Cowley as they headed for the car park.  He didn't particularly want an explanation.  He wasn't sure why the question had slipped out. It wasn't as if he hadn't gone into CI5 with his eyes wide open.  He knew he was expendable.  And yet something was gnawing at him about this op.

Cowley glanced at him.  "Counting costs, Bodie?"

"Yeah, well, having a man nearly die on you because he was in the wrong place, wearing the wrong headpiece...."

"He should have kept his head down."

"He was trying to do his job."  Right down to the bloody end.

"Charlie knew the risks."

“He asked if it was worth it—if he'd been someone important."  He heard the bitterness in his own voice with some surprise.

Cowley's mouth tightened.  "It was important."

"Was it?  You lost a good man."

"Don't you think I know that?  Yes, the cost was high, but this operation saved lives."

"Whose lives?  What has this got to do with us?"

Cowley stopped walking, and turned to face him.  "It's all connected—what happens over there, what happens here."

"Politics."

"Aye. And it's not a dirty word, although I grant you it seems so often enough."  Cowley moved forward again, and Bodie followed.  "Sometimes we all do things we'd rather not.  I have to keep my eyes on the big picture."

"And individual lives don't matter."

"Oh, they matter. But there are other considerations."  They left the corridor and entered a stairwell.  "I've never known you to worry about the reasons behind an operation."

Bodie shrugged.  "This one was close."  He didn't know why he couldn't let it drop. Why he'd felt betrayed. He knew the score—knew the considerations Cowley was talking about. It shouldn't have rattled him.

"I've also never known you to disobey orders in quite this way."

Bodie kept his face still.  "I've—"

"Been insubordinate before, yes.  But this….  You knew you were on your own—-that neither I nor CI5 existed.  Yet you tracked me down and asked for help."

"You do what you have to do to survive."  He kept his eyes on the stairs.

"When I hired you, I was told survival wasn't your prime motivating factor."

"Its always been high on my list."

"Secondary to your objective—whatever that might be at the time."

"The job comes first."

"Does it?"

His stomach tightened at the note in Cowley's voice.  They left the stairwell and entered the car park. Bodie stopped as Cowley turned to face him.

"I know your profile, Bodie.  When you fix on an objective, no other considerations enter your mind.  That makes you a valuable agent—unless our objectives differ."

"I completed the mission, sir."

"Aye. Which you could have done just as well without contacting me."

He didn't know what to say, and fell back on his training.  "No excuses, sir."

"I'm not expecting any.  I want to know your reasoning."

"I.... We were...."  He trailed off, and couldn't hold Cowley's gaze.

"You said you needed help. Would you have me believe you panicked?

"Charlie was nearly killed—"

"And you saved him. He was on his way to hospital."

Bodie said nothing.

"You knew where the next stop was.  But instead of going there you came to me."  Cowley paused a moment, his eyes on Bodie.  "You've been in war games before."

"This wasn't the same!  We were outnumbered, without support, and they were firing real bullets, you know!  Charlie—"

"Wasn't your concern at that point.  Was he?"

Bodie froze.  In his head he heard his own voice, speaking to Doyle: _But I'll sacrifice everything else before I'll sacrifice you._  "I wanted to live, if that's what you mean."  Christ, he had to keep Cowley away from the truth.

"And yet you went right back into it when you saw Doyle was surrounded."

"He's my partner."

"And your prime consideration."

"What the hell do you expect?"  It all came out in a rush.  "You teamed us; you told us to watch each other's backs."

"I expect you to follow my orders. Even the ones you don't like. Even the ones that might lead to your deaths."

"Doyle's not—"  And he stopped, appalled at what he'd been about to let slip.

"Doyle understands. You didn't see him calling in until the end."

"It was this bloody op, sir. It wasn't—"

"It's not your place to judge the worthiness of an op. You have to trust me."

"To you, we're expendable."

"But not needlessly. If you can't accept that, then you don't belong in CI5."  Cowley took a step away, then turned back. "You and Doyle are my best team.  I'd like to keep it that way. There is such a thing as being too close."

"We're effective as we are."  The panic he was feeling didn't reach his voice.

"Yes, and for that reason I'll give you this warning.  Hear me well, Bodie.  CI5 comes first."

"I thought Joe Public came first, sir."

"Don't fence with me, lad. We can't protect Joe Public if we have to constantly defend ourselves to the likes of Geraldine Mather. I'll have my orders obeyed, and I'll keep our doorstep clean. Do you understand me?"

Bodie looked at him.  "Yes, sir"

Cowley nodded.  "See that Doyle does as well.  My car is over there."  He gestured to the left.

Bodie focused on the car, but he could feel Cowley's eyes on him as they walked the entire length of the car park.  Christ, what price involvement?  If Cowley were to break the partnership....

Cowley unlocked the car door, and opened it. He paused, one hand on the door frame.  "You did well today, you and Doyle—and Charlie."

"We did the job, sir."

"Aye."  Cowley looked him up and down. "In your own way.  Heed my words, Bodie.  You're valuable agents—both of you.  I'm willing to allow a certain...latitude.  But our objectives must match."

Bodie nodded, and stood back as Cowley started the car.  He watched as Cowley drove away.  A certain latitude.  He could fuck Doyle all he wanted, as long as he kept it hidden—and as long as he was willing to sacrifice him to Cowley's whim.  _You have to trust me_.

Bodie turned back towards the hospital, but stopped as his R/T sounded.  He pulled it out.  "Three-seven."

"Where the hell are you?"

Despite the coldness that gripped him, Bodie grinned.  "I'm here.  Where are you?"

"Oh, that's really helpful.  I'm at the hospital.  Can you pick me up?  They've collected the van."

"What about Leila?"

"Her sister's coming for her."

"So much for true love and dinner, eh?"

"She's been shot.  What about your boat bird?"

"Philippa." He drew out the syllables.

"You are joking."

"I'm not."

"Look, can you pick me up?"

"That wasn't our arrangement when you dropped me at the car."

"It's my car, and I thought—"

"Tut-tut.  You should always have a backup plan."

"I do. You're it.  Where are you?"

"Come into my car park, said the spider."

"You're in the car park?"

"For a few more minutes.  You'd better hurry."  Bodie shut off the R/T.  He located the Escort and leaned against it, arms folded.

Fuck. How the hell had it got so complicated?  _You're emotionally involved._  Doyle's words to him earlier in the day, but it might as well have been Cowley.  It had been going so well—so damn well.  He and Doyle were in sync, back to normal. They'd tottered on the edge of disaster, because of involvement, but they'd pulled back.  Nothing, _nothing_ , would be allowed to interfere with their partnership.  And they'd won today.  Sod it, when he'd seen Doyle's predicament on the monitors—and those bastards happily watching while Ray— But he'd got to him.  Everything had been fine, once he'd heard Ray's voice on the R/T.  Escorts bloody Unlimited.  As long as they were together, as long as he could watch Doyle's back, he'd live with being expendable.

 _For Christ's sake, Bodie._ He'd never forget that night, the sound of Doyle's whisper. The cost of involvement was too high. Doyle's anguish wasn't worth it.

They had to cool it.  Had to find a balance. Had to renegotiate the fucking deal between them.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Doyle approaching.  And it hit him, deep in his stomach and his groin—desire and need. Dammit, he wanted that predatory grace.  He wanted Doyle beneath him, wanted his surrender—and the way it never felt like surrender.  His heart sped up, his cock stirred, and all from Doyle walking across the sodding car park towards him.  He could grab him, turn him against the car, take him right where that bloody patch was on his jeans—

Bodie looked down.  _We play this by your rules, is that it?_   He should have known Doyle wouldn't play fair. But Doyle hadn't seen his own face that night after Drake had nearly killed Bodie.  CI5 wasn't coming first for either of them. And how the hell could they do their job, then?  What options would Cowley have for them?

"Here you are."  Doyle smiled at him.

"Is this what you call hurrying?"  Bodie stood straight and opened the door.

Doyle walked to the passenger side.  "You had me quaking."

"Get in."

"Where're we going?"  Doyle asked as Bodie drove out of the car park.

"Your place."  And the echoes of the same conversation from the week before were like steel blades cutting him.  He had to keep to the script, put Doyle off. "My car's there. I'm meeting Philippa  tonight."  Doyle would never know the truth.

"Yeah. Okay." Doyle's voice was flat.

They were all expendable; the job had to be done.  Charlie had known it.  He and Doyle had to face it.  He couldn't fully protect Doyle.  He couldn't fully satisfy Cowley's demands.  All he could do was contain the situation, control the damage.  Bind the wound and get on with it.

Or get out.


	23. Coda to Fall Girl

Bodie was aware of the man following him from the moment he left the club. By the time he'd walked a mile, he knew it was Doyle. Half a mile farther, as he paused at a junction, he realised Doyle wanted him to know it was him.  And yet they walked on in the evening drizzle, and Doyle made no attempt to catch up with him. What was he playing at? And at whose instigation?  Bodie shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and walked faster. Doyle followed.

 _You were set up. But you made it damn easy for them._   Cowley had been angry—with him, with Willis, with the whole situation.  Bodie had stood before him and had offered no excuses, no explanations.  What could he have said in his defence?  He'd told Marikka she'd betrayed him. But he hadn't been thinking about trust or risk when he'd made the rendezvous with her. He'd wanted something of the past, something from a time that had seemed simpler, if not better. But all it had led to was death and anger, and a cold hardness inside.  It was as if he were made of steel—tempered by betrayal, and the bitter knowledge of a set-up.  It was a familiar feeling, from before CI5, before Doyle.  It was almost welcome.

They'd killed her. They'd murdered her in front of all those witnesses—in front of _him_ —and they'd get away with it.  Willis and Schuman would use her in death as they'd used her in life.  As they'd tried to use him.  There wasn't a thing Cowley could do about it, even if he wanted to.  It was all about politics, and the system, and the way things worked. He'd learnt that lesson long ago, why the hell had he forgotten it?  Cowley hadn't been shocked by Marikka's murder—but Doyle had been.  He'd seen it in Doyle's eyes.  Doyle knew about corruption first-hand, but he'd had little experience with the soul-rotting world of espionage.  Doyle still believed in justice.

And Doyle was still following him.  Was he under Cowley's orders?  Or was he trying to salvage something from the whole fucking disaster?  He should get out. Every instinct he had was telling him to leave—get out of London, out of England.  But Doyle's flat was less than a mile from where he was, and he'd known he was heading that way from the moment he'd left the club.  _Give me a ring when you're ready, Bodie.  There are several jobs that would suit you._ But Marston didn't know him anymore, and it was too late.

On an impulse, he veered left, crossed the street, and followed a pathway that only the locals would use.  It snaked between houses and buildings, around gardens and through allotments. Bodie had used it earlier in the day when he'd gone to Doyle's flat.  He increased his pace as he followed the path, putting more distance between them, but not enough to lose Doyle.  Finally, he reached the section he remembered, where the path twisted between two garden walls. It was secluded, dimly lit by a lamp attached to one of the walls, and neutral ground.  He leant against a wall to wait.

Doyle appeared, paused for a moment, then approached slowly.

Bodie let his eyes rove over him. "Cowley's still keeping tabs, eh?"

"No. Should he?"  Oh, and he could see the wariness in Doyle.  For some reason, that fuelled his anger.

"You can't make this right, Doyle."

"I can try. Bo—"

Bodie cut him off.  He reached out, his hands cupping Doyle's head, and brought his mouth down on Doyle's. Doyle tried to move, and his hands covered Bodie's, but Bodie didn't ease his grip.  He turned them, shoving Doyle's back against the wall, and felt in Doyle's body the decision not to fight him.  Oddly, that also added to the anger. Why could Doyle always get under his skin? Bodie didn't stop the kiss until he tasted blood. He backed off, and put a hand to his own mouth, watching Doyle.

Doyle's chest heaved twice before he spoke.  "All right.  You want to take it out on me?"  He paused a moment.  "I'm here."

"I never cared much for martyrs."

Doyle's eyes narrowed.  "Is that what you think this is?"

Bodie crossed his arms.  "Guilt is your speciality."

Doyle's tongue flicked across his split lip.  "Maybe, but there's more to it"

"What else, then?"

"Responsibility."

"Same thing."

"No. It's not."

Doyle stood before him—determined, stubborn, self-contained.  He turned away.  "I don't need—"  His words were cut off as Doyle grabbed him, pushing him to the wall.

"What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"It's none of your—"

"Thinking with your god damned balls—what did you expect?"

"She was a friend."

"A lover."

"Jealous?"  The word shot out, unconsidered and instantly regretted.

Doyle looked at him.  "She was an agent."  His voice was even.

"She wasn't. She was through with all that."

"What outfit do you think you work for?  You're not with those mercenaries you were drinking with—"

"Look, I know it was stupid.  I know that.  But she and I...."  He didn't fully understand himself why he'd been so susceptible to the lure of deadly nostalgia.

"Okay."  Doyle looked away.  "I'm sorry. For what happened."

Those feelings were buried now.  Bodie shrugged. "She was used, as we all are."

"She mattered to you."

"Leave it. It's done."

"She didn't betray you."

Bodie pushed away from the wall, and Doyle backed up a step.  "She did before."

"Not all your lovers do."

Bodie froze, but did his best to hide his reaction.  "Don't they?"

He saw Doyle flinch.  "I was following orders."

"I know." And he didn't blame Doyle for that, but Doyle would blame himself.

"It was the safest thing for you—having a tail."

"Unless I'd really been guilty."

"You weren't."

His own voice was oddly rough.  "Cowley had to play it both ways."

"No, Cowley knew.  He was trying to—"

"Cowley has to work within the system."  He softened his tone. "Sometimes, the system wins."

The drizzle had brought out the curl in Doyle's hair.  "He was trying to help you."

"He was trying to keep CI5's doorstep clean."

"No."

"For Christ's sake, Doyle. Open your eyes!  CI5 comes first. We're expendable—you fucking know that."

"Yeah, but not without a reason!"

"A reason we may never know, or care about."

Doyle stared at him. "You really thought he'd set you up?"

"Let's just say I wasn't surprised when they tried to kill me."

"So what were you doing at the safe house, then?

Bodie turned away.  "Best idea to know where your enemies are, isn't it?"

Doyle grabbed his shoulder, and turned him back.  "Was I your enemy?"

"Cowley set you to watching me."

Doyle's grip tightened. "I didn't—

"If he had been out to get me, you'd've led him right to me." He and Cowley had both known that. _There is such a thing as being too close._ Cowley's words to him, not so long ago.  And Cowley would use that knowledge.  He'd use everything he had to keep CI5 clean.  _Do you understand me?_  Cowley had had nothing to do with the original set up, and Bodie believed now he'd done what he could to help.  But the line was there, nevertheless.

Doyle's hand dropped away from Bodie's shoulder.  "Cowley said you wouldn't contact me."

"He was wrong. I came by your place."

"When?"

"You were chatting up Marikka at the time."

"Oh...fuck."

"That's what I said."

"I was finding out what Marikka knew. Trying to establish a time line to prove you couldn't have shot Biermann."

"Playing it like a copper."

"Getting the evidence—"

"Don't you get it, Doyle?" Bodie moved forward, crowding Doyle when he didn't step back. The rain started falling harder. "This isn't the police. This isn't even CI5. Willis and his mob don't play by any of the rules you follow."

"I know that!"

"You sodding don't!  In your heart of hearts you still believe the system works. Yes, you found the evidence—and it helped.  But if push had come to shove, your evidence would have disappeared into a big, black hole."

"I wouldn't have let it!"

And something tightened painfully in Bodie's gut, just as it had when he'd looked through Doyle's flat window and understood why Marikka was there. "I know. But the only reason I'm here, mate, and not dead is because Kreiber killed Marikka. They got their fucking scapegoat."

Doyle sucked in a breath. "Then why didn't you run?  What were you doing up that bloody gas holder?  With Willis' men surrounding you, and no fucking way out."

Bodie shrugged. "I was playing out the string."  He started to turn, but Doyle grabbed him again, and this time pinned him against the wall.

"You could have got away. Don't tell me you haven't got escape routes planned—false ID, the whole lot."

"Yeah, well."  He looked away.

"What does that mean? Dammit, if you didn't trust us—"

"Trust doesn't enter into it!"  Bodie grabbed Doyle's shoulders, shaking him.  "I know what the bloody system will do to the likes of me and you, if we get caught in it.  We're expendable.  Pieces to be moved on the board and discarded at will."

"Then—"

Bodie tightened his grip. "But you don't fucking see it that way, do you?  You weren't going to give up.  You were grilling Marikka—next you'd go after Shuman or Kreiber or, hell, Willis.  Cowley wouldn't have been able to stop you. You stupid bastard."

Doyle stood in his hold, wide-eyed and unmoving.

"I wasn't going to let them have both of us."  A rain drop slid from Doyle's forehead down his nose and to the side. Bodie groaned, and leaned forward, licking at the water.  His mouth slid to Doyle's—warmth against the cold of the rain; balm for the fear he'd covered with steel.

He heard a murmur, perhaps his name, and Doyle opened to him. Bodie delved into Doyle's mouth, unable to get enough of him. He was in Doyle's arms now, and Doyle's hands were on his shoulders and back.  Bodie turned them, backing Doyle to the wall, and he unzipped Doyle's jeans.  He pushed aside cloth, feeling the tremor that went through Doyle as he he pulled on Doyle's cock.  Doyle shoved into his hand.  They were too close to each other and the wall, for much movement. He wanted to pull Doyle into his skin, wanted to feel everything he was feeling.  He fucked Doyle's mouth with his tongue, and used his hand and body on Doyle's hard cock.  He could take him like this, as surely as if his cock was up Doyle's arse.

Doyle whimpered, and ground against him, and Bodie could almost feel Doyle's heart thundering.  His knuckles scraped against the wall as he held Doyle's back. The adrenaline from the day had never fully settled—for either of them, it seemed. Or did the urgency come from the cooling off he'd insisted on? Perhaps Doyle had thought, as he had, that they might never do this again. Doyle broke the kiss with a gasp, and he buried his face into Bodie's neck, smothering a cry as he came.

"That's right. That's fucking right, Ray."  He held him until the shudders eased, unwilling to move away. They'd made it.  They were here.

"Damn you."  Doyle's voice was muffled against Bodie's neck, yet the words carried to him.  "I was so fucking—  Damn you."  Doyle's voice shook.

He loosened his hold as Doyle pulled back.  There was no smile on Doyle's face, and he was silent now, but Bodie couldn't look away as Doyle held his gaze. Steel was no barrier, no protection against Doyle.  It never had been.  He felt Doyle's hands at the clasp of his trousers, and then Doyle went down on his knees.

Bodie caught back a groan as his cock was taken into that same warmth he'd found earlier.  His stomach muscles tightened and shuddered as Doyle started working on him. He put one hand on the wall, and touched the top of Doyle's damp head with the other.  He knew the shape of Doyle's head, would know it anywhere.  He cradled Doyle as his head moved—up and down on his cock, such sweet tension— Ah, Christ. They were mad to be doing this here—in the wet, and the mud, on a public path.  But he closed his eyes, and let touch take over.

His mind flickered across images of the day.  Marikka, smiling with such inner sorrow; desperate for him to listen to her.  _They used me! They used us both!_   Her death had given him life—repayment for past betrayal.  Cowley, trying to control the situation, help him.  _Bodie! It's all over!  We've cleared you!_   Cowley had been angry with the system that he, in part, maintained.  _I'll keep our doorstep clean. Do you understand me?_  Warning given and accepted.

But it was Doyle whose image overrode all others, the centre of his world.  Doyle, standing beneath the hotel window, sitting in his flat, crouching beside Marikka's body. Doyle, whose shock and anger, seen only in his eyes, had caused Bodie to shove the rifle into his arms.  Doyle would never knowingly betray him on the job, or on Cowley's orders.  But Doyle underestimated the dangers they faced.  Leaving was no longer an option.  He'd known that outside Doyle's window.  He'd gone to say goodbye, and found himself caught.  _I'll stay for you, you bastard.  I'll stay._  He shoved his cock into Doyle, and clamped his jaws against the words he might have said.

He came in Doyle's mouth, felt him swallow, and groaned at the sensation.  Surrender, commitment, broken steel.  Somehow, he'd find a way to control the damage—something short of leaving.  Doyle pulled himself to his feet, using Bodie for leverage.  Bodie grasped Doyle's shoulder and waist, and felt him shaking.  They were both soaked; the rain falling in earnest now.  Doyle's kiss was still warm, however, and he tasted himself in Doyle's mouth.  He'd done that with birds in the past, and a few men, but it was different with Doyle.  As everything was different with Doyle.

"No games. I won't—"  Doyle's hand tightened on his upper arm, and he panted.

"What?"  Doyle's hair was plastered to his head.  Bodie wiped water from his face, and kissed his forehead.  "Don't get attached, Ray."  He murmured the words.  Don't give Cowley that hold on you. One of us is enough.

A smile wavered on Doyle's face, and disappeared.  "That's not your responsibility."  He squeezed Bodie's arm, then let go.  He stepped back and looked up at the sky for a moment.  "You're free to leave."  He tucked himself back into his jeans.

Bodie shook his head while doing his own straightening of his clothes.  "Not according to Cowley."

"Eh?" Doyle looked up.

"We did the debriefing.  But I'm due back in his office at 0700."

"It's well after 2 in the morning."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

Doyle turned away and started walking.  "You can bed down at my place, if you want."  His voice was easy.

"Yeah, okay."  Bodie followed him down the path.  "Does this mean I get breakfast?"

"I reckon."

"And a ride to work?"

"Most likely."

"And you'll come in with me?"

"To face Cowley?  You're on your own there, mate."

"Coward."

Doyle turned his head to look at him for a moment.  "Pragmatist."


	24. Coda to the Purging of CI5

He stopped before the entrance to the Red Lion, almost as if he'd hit a wall.  Fuck.  He'd known it would be difficult, but he hadn't wanted to be one of those agents who avoided the others after losing his partner.  It was better to be among the few who showed up right away at the pub—got on with it.  Those agents tended to live longer.  And Mike would have—

He cut the thought off, and forced himself to move again.  He pulled open the door and walked into the smoke-filled haze.  The pub was already crowded with people just released from work.  The majority of the patrons probably never noticed the slight dip in the sound level when he arrived.  Lake's stomach tightened.  He took a deep breath, trying once again to master the tension he'd lived with since yesterday morning.  It was a futile attempt, but it kept him walking forward, which was all that mattered.  He was too aware of the empty space at his side.

The first of the agents he saw was Anson, puffing on a cigar.  Anson dipped his head towards him—a small salute, but welcome. He was talking to Lewis, who turned and stared at Lake, until Anson reclaimed his attention.  Lake pushed on through the crowd, seeking a spot at the bar and the first of several drinks.

A touch on his arm brought him to a stop and he turned to find Susan next to him.  The expression on her face nearly sent him heading for the door, but he got a grip on himself and nodded at her.  She patted his arm, then moved on towards Anson and Lewis.  Lake continued on to the bar, and found Jax and Doyle before him.

"You're just in time."  Jax smiled at him, as he would have done any other day.  Lake felt a little of his tension ease.

"For what?"  Lake leaned over the bar, looking for the barmaid.

"Doyle's round."

"Ah, well then, I'll have a pint of bitter."

"Hang on, you haven't won yet, Jax."  Doyle had a beer in his hand.

"It's a sure thing," Jax said, and Lake looked at him.

"What's the bet?"

Jax gestured with his glass.  "He said Bodie's going to try his luck with Susan."

Lake raised his eyebrows. "Again?"

Doyle shrugged.  "He reckons she's feeling charitable towards him just now."

Doyle, Bodie, and Susan were the heroes of the day.  Bloody Bodie and Doyle—and yet he was grateful that Catrell was behind bars, and the Wakeman woman dead.  And Chris and his bloody thousand quid, as well.  Move on.

"That explosion rattled his brains, then?"  Jax was smiling.

"Could be." Doyle took a sip from his beer and leaned back against the bar.

Lake scanned the pub. He saw Pennington, Taylor, and Cook over by the darts.  Ruth and Sally were with the new lad, Murphy, not far from Anson, Lewis, and Susan.  CI5 had been stood down, except for the undercover operations, while the Wakeman fiasco was dealt with.  Cowley would want to get them active again as soon as possible.  But they all knew Cowley had been kept in hospital overnight for observation, and ordered to stay home today.  That hadn't meant they hadn't heard from him, of course.  "Where is Bodie?"

"Loo."

"Nerves, you know," Jax said.

"I can't say I blame him."  A pint was placed near Lake's elbow.  He looked at the barmaid, and she nodded at Jax before moving away.  "Ta."  He took a sip of bitter.  "The last time Mike made a move on Susan she dumped him in the canal."  He'd got that out casually enough, and felt the tension inside ease a little more.  He could do this.

"I remember that." Doyle grinned.

"Stunk the car up for a week.  Are you sure you want to encourage him, Doyle?"

"Nothing to do with me."

Jax shook his head. "Partner loyalty is a fickle thing."

"Birds come first." Lake found his throat closing over the words and looked away. Dammit.

"There's the lad now."

Lake lifted his head at Doyle's voice, and followed his gaze to find Bodie walking towards Susan.

"Here we go," Jax said.  "I'm anticipating that drink, Doyle."

They watched as Bodie approached the table where Susan, Anson and Lewis were sitting.  Bodie slid into a chair next to Susan, a smile on his face.  Whatever he said to her, she laughed in response.

"You have to admit he is a smooth bastard," Lake said.

"Yeah, but Susan never dates any of us more than once."

Lake glanced at Jax. "Did you try your hand, then?"

"No. I'm a trained observer."

"By his wife," Doyle said. "Cowley was thinking of hiring her to keep us all in line."  His eyes were still on Bodie.  "And there's the pitch."

Susan was listening to Bodie, her head slightly tilted, a small smile on her face.  Lake knew that look.  He remembered the canal incident with excruciating clarity.  Bodie smiled, and Lake shook his head.  Bodie had been smart enough not to try the suave approach, but Susan was made of harder stuff than the tea lady.

"I don't believe it."  Jax's voice was higher than normal.

Lake blinked.  Susan's nod might mean anything, but that disgusting look of self-satisfaction now on Bodie's face could only mean one thing.  "That jammy sod."  What was it with birds?  Just when you thought you knew them, they'd go and fall for that sort of nauseating act of Bodie's.  He looked at Jax.  "Sorry, mate."

Jax shook his head.  "No.  That wasn't it."

"Eh?"  Doyle and Jax still had their eyes fixed on Bodie and Susan.  "What the hell was the bet, then?"  He drank more of the bitter.

"Doyle said Bodie would ask her, she'd say yes—and he'd turn her down."

"What?"  Lake looked at Doyle.  "Why?"

"In over his head, poor lad."

" _Bodie?_ "

"Its just a front.  He really fancies Jax."

"Leave me out of it."

Lake narrowed his eyes.  "They're up to something—the pair of them."

Doyle smiled, and Lake felt an immediate desire to wipe that smile off his face.

"Nothing new there."  Jax's voice was tart and Lake saw Doyle glance at him.

"But we are talking about Susan here."  Lake shifted his gaze to Susan and Bodie.  "And when it comes to birds and partners....  Bodie could be playing his own game, Doyle.  Did you ever think of that?"

"You have to admit, Ray, it does look like they're agreeing on a date now."

Lake saw Susan nod, and Bodie flicked her cheek with a finger as he stood up.  Anson was smoking, leaning back in his chair, but Lewis was staring at Bodie.  Bodie grinned, turned, and was stopped by Susan's hand on his arm.  Bodie looked back, then leaned down as Susan said something to him.  He straightened, as if surprised, then turned his head to look in their direction.  Lake's gut clenched, all the tension was back, worse than before.  He couldn't read the look, but he felt the communication between partners—understood how it worked.  Beside him, Doyle shifted, but he said nothing, and Bodie returned his attention to Susan.  Lake took in a couple of breaths, then glanced at Doyle and caught a sudden, fleeting smile, although Doyle's eyes were still on Susan and Bodie.  Lake looked back at them, and saw Bodie smirk.

"I'll have a double," Jax said.

"Hang on."

Susan spoke again.  Lake watched as Bodie appeared to freeze, and all expression left his face.

"Here, " Jax said.  "What did she...?"

Susan looked at Bodie with cool poise, obviously waiting for his answer.  That bloody annoying smile was on her face again.  She spoke again, and Lake found himself grinning as he watched Bodie react with obvious horror.  If he had been Jax, it would have been worth losing the bet, just to have witnessed Bodie losing his cool with Susan.

"Gotcha."  Doyle's voice was soft, and Lake didn't know if it was directed at Jax or Bodie.  Across the pub, a shout of laughter went up at the table.  Anson dropped his cigar, Lewis looked to be hiccuping, and Susan's shoulders were shaking.

"Fuck.  I don't believe it."  Jax turned towards Doyle.  "What did she say?"

Doyle spread his arms.  "Don't ask me.  I—"

"Doyle!"  Bodie's shout rose above all other sounds in the pub.

Doyle drained his glass and put it on the bar.  "I'll take a rain check on that round, Jax."  He turned away from the bar, but Jax grabbed his arm.

"Don't you move, you little toerag!"  Bodie was moving towards them, as if cutting his way through a battlefield.

"I think Bodie wants to speak with you," Jax said.

"Yeah, but—"

Bodie reached them.  "You bastard.  You toad—"

"Here you are.  How'd you make out with Susan, then?"  Doyle grinned.

Lake caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Anson making his way towards Pennington.  He turned back to Bodie.  "Share the joke, Bodie."

"Some joke."

"What're you drinking, mate?  Beer?"  Doyle waved for the barmaid.

"It's going to take more than beer."

Another shout of laughter, and Lake traced it to the darts area.  Susan he saw, had moved over to Ruth's table.

"A lot more than beer."  Bodie's voice was grim.

Doyle was still trying to attract the attention of the barmaid.

Lake looked at Bodie. "It's obviously only a matter of time before we find out."  He glanced at Jax, who was also looking at Bodie. "Jax is buying the round."

Bodie shook his head. "He set you up as well, did he?"

"I should have known it was too easy.  Bloody partners."  Jax raised his eyebrows.  "What did she say to you?"

"She said she was thinking of an amendment to her rule."

"An amendment?"

"Yes.  She'd go out with me _if_ —  Ah, thanks, mate."  He accepted a pint from Doyle.  "But don't think you're safe."  The glare he directed at Doyle was lethal, but Doyle just grinned.

"Go on," Lake said.  "She'd go out with you, if...."

"If I made it more ah, in—"  Bodie mumbled a word into his beer.

"What was that?"

Bodie looked at him, then sighed.  "Interesting."

"Interesting."  Lake kept his voice even and his face straight, but it took effort. 

"Yes."  Bodie transferred his gaze to Doyle.  "Interesting."

"And?"  Jax asked the question for all of them.  "How did she define...?"

Bodie took refuge in his beer.  "Ask Doyle."

"Don't look at me.  Nothing to do with—"

"Ah, just the two men I wanted to see.  Together."

"Hello, Ruth."  Bodie sighed.

"Jax is buying," Doyle said.

"Brilliant.  Three beers, please."   She surveyed Bodie and Doyle, head to toe and back.  "Well, well, well.  Perfect...bookends, you might say."

Doyle looked from Ruth to Bodie.  "Bodie, what...?"

Ruth smiled.  "Susan, obviously, has her own ideas.  But Sally and I have been having a think...."

"And I think Sally and Murphy must be thirsty, so you'd better toddle along back to them now."  Bodie waved his arm.

"I haven't got the beers yet."

"Jax can bring them over."

"Hang on," Jax said.  "It wasn't that big a bet."  The barmaid, however, with perfect timing set three beers down.  "Ah.  Here you go, Ruth."

"Ta."  She smiled, and looked Bodie and Doyle up and down again.  "Definite potential.  Now we know."  She headed back to her table with the beers.

They all watched her walk away.  Lake cleared his throat.  "Susan proposed a threesome?"

Bodie drank more of his beer.

"You and...?"  His eyes shifted to Doyle.

"She said the one CI5 man she hasn't yet dated."

Doyle turned quickly away, towards the bar.

Lake looked at Jax, and they both smiled at the same time.

"Yes, very funny."  Bodie glared at Doyle's back.

“You have to hand it to her—it's a novel way to sleep with the boss."

Bodie looked pained.  "Don't remind me."

"Shame you didn't say yes."  Doyle turned around.  His face was earnest, but his voice shook.  "Could have been a benefit in all sorts of ways."

"Couldn't do that to the old man, could I?"  Bodie drank his beer.  "He just got out of hospital."

"Took a rain check then, did you?"

"Might have done."

"Hence the gales of laughter we heard."

"Buy me another drink, Doyle."

You're not finished with that one."

"I soon will be, when I dump it on you."

"Jax's round."

"No, I believe it's yours."

"Don't know why everyone's accusing me—"

"I did suggest to Susan you'd be the man for the job."

Doyle smiled.  "Ta.  It could be a good career move."

"Or not.  Cowley's standards...."

"Oi!"

Lake smiled, as he was meant to, at the byplay.  But in his head echoed a voice he didn't want to hear.  He put his glass down on the bar top with a harder thud than he had intended.  "It seems you've got a proposition of another kind from our Ruth."

"And Sally," Jax murmured.

"Yes you should be thanking me, Doyle," Bodie said.  "You've been asking Sally out for ages."

"I had envisioned less of a crowd, you see."

"Open your mind to new possibilities.  That's my motto."

"Oh, yes?  You didn't seem very open minded from here, mate.  More...horrified."

Bodie looked at him narrowly.  "You had something to do with this."

"You've got a very suspicious mind."

"Oh god, are they at it again?"  Anson slipped in beside Lake, but he looked at Jax.  "I hear you're buying."

Jax sighed and signalled the barmaid.

"Ever been on a stakeout with them?"  Lake picked up his glass again.

"No."  Anson nodded at Bodie and Doyle.  "Like that, are they?"

"Worse."

"Great."  Anson looked at Bodie and Doyle.  "You two could get a room, you know."

"With Sally and Ruth, apparently," Lake said.

"Yeah?"  Anson reached for the glass the barmaid was offering him.

"I already have a date for tonight."  Bodie snagged Anson's beer for his own.

"That was mine!"

"I reckon you owe me for the entertainment."

"I thought it was Doyle's fault," Lake said.

"That's true.  He owes you a beer."  Bodie raised the glass to his lips.

"And if Susan had said yes, what would you have done with...Louise, isn't it?"  Doyle mimed thirst to Jax.

Bodie choked, but recovered quickly.  "Louise.  She's very understanding, Louise is."

"Is she?" Doyle sounded doubtful.

"Yeah.  I bet she'd like a threesome."

There was a slight pause, then Doyle shook his head.  "Trust you."

Bodie grinned.

"What happened to...Claire, wasn't it?"  Jax put a new glass next to Lake at the bar.

"She dumped him."

"We had a civil parting of the ways."

"Wasn't it Joanna you were trying to get Julia to ring through the R/T yesterday?"

"She dumped him too."

"We had a civil parting of the ways."

"So tell us about this Louise," Lake said.  He picked up the brimming glass.

"Gorgeous body, very enthusiastic in bed.  Green eyes.  Bad temper."

"Oi, watch it."  Doyle stepped back quickly.

"Sorry Ray."  Jax frowned at the beer he'd spilt as he'd handed Doyle his glass.

"Clumsy."

"Distracted."

"Bodie does do that to people."  Doyle brushed his sleeve, then looked up, but his gaze had shifted to Lake.

And Lake suddenly realised they all had fresh drinks, and they'd reached a quorum.  For a moment it felt like he was in free fall, and he couldn't catch his breath.  He managed to nod at Doyle, and tightened his grip on his beer.

"Matheson," Doyle said quietly, raising his glass.

"King."  Anson raised his as well.

Lake took in a deep breath.  "Williams."  He lifted his glass.  Across the pub he saw Ruth, Sally, Susan and Murphy with their own glasses raised.  He knew if he looked, he'd find all the agents acknowledging the moment.  Unofficial and hidden it might be, but this was their tradition.  He drank the beer, said his farewell, and hoped it would banish his ghost.

He'd heard it described as similar to losing an arm, but losing his partner was worse—far worse than that.  He was expected to go on, behave normally, but every one of his relationships on the squad had been formed in tandem with Mike.  It was awkward standing with them, drinking with them, and knowing that Mike would never walk through that door.  Mike would never set him up or back him up, or stand beside him as Bodie was standing next to Doyle.  He knew what the others in the pub felt.  They were aware of him, in the same way they'd be aware of a breach in the line—there but for the grace of God.  They'd shore him up, give him support, and watch to see if he'd crack.

Cowley set them up for this, with his damned two-man teams.  Maybe it would be better to work alone.  This...dependency—  It bloody well hurt.  It was all he could do to stand there, and keep from breaking in front of them.  But he wasn't going to be one of those who failed.  He'd go it alone.  And if Cowley eventually teamed him with someone else, well, he'd learnt his lesson.  Mike's memory would fade—for him, for everyone.  Doyle had lost a partner in the Met.  They had all lost comrades.  Life went on.

"We're back at it tomorrow," Anson said.

"You've heard something?"  Jax looked at him.

"Just that I'm on with the terrible twosome there."  He smiled at Bodie and Doyle.  "The call came in a few minutes ago.  I'm to brief you."

"On what?" Doyle asked.

"Surveillance."  His smile widened as they both groaned.  "Twenty-four hours."

"Terrific.  When does it start?"

"0400."

Doyle glanced at Bodie.  "Now I know how Phillips felt."

"Yeah, there's gratitude for you.  I thought Cowley was pleased with us."

"Maybe the explosion affected his short-term memory."

"Surveillance duty.  I wonder what he has Susie—oh, speak of the devil."

Lake saw Susan approaching the group.  She patted Bodie on the arm.  "It is a pity."  She shook her head, then turned to Doyle.  "You owe me ten quid, don't forget."

Doyle saluted her with his beer.

"Wait a minute," Bodie said.  "Why does he owe you ten quid?"

Doyle took a big gulp of beer.  "Well, I'll just be—"

"Don't you move."  Bodie looked at Susan and raised his eyebrows.

"He bet me I couldn't get you to say no."  She grinned.

"But, he bet me...." Jax's voice trailed off as he turned to look at Doyle.

Doyle put his empty glass on the bar.  "0400.  Got to go...sleep."  He edged away from Bodie.

"Doyle."  Bodie set his glass down.

"G'night."  The word was hastily said, but as Doyle turned, he looked at Lake, and their eyes met.  It was a brief connection, but it felt like someone had come to stand alongside him in the breach.  And then Doyle was gone, slipping through the crowd with increasing speed.

"See you tomorrow, then," Bodie said to Anson.  "We'll try not to be late, but Doyle might have some trouble walking."  Bodie gave Lake a light punch on the arm.  "Stand firm, mate."  _Shoulder to shoulder_ , and it was Mike's voice in his head, clear and unshadowed.

"Was it something I said?"  Susan looked around at the others, a gleam in her eye.

"You are beautiful, but lethal."  Anson was lighting up another cigar.

"Just so you all remember that."  She smiled at Jax.  "And, I believe...."

Jax turned back to the bar, his hand raised for the barmaid.

Lake looked at his drink.  Shoulder to shoulder.  A willing dependency.  He could stand with his fellow agents.  He had a place, and a future. And he felt he could breathe freely again, for the first time in nearly two days.  You'll do.  It was Mike's voice once more—welcome now—and he wasn't astonished to feel something close to a smile on his face.  Maybe ghosts didn't need to be banished, or memories purged.  He raised his glass one more time to Michael Williams.


	25. Coda to Backtrack

He heard the gasp, felt the jerk, and understood what it was, even before he was fully awake.  Doyle opened his eyes.  They had closed the curtains to keep out the light, but the sun was strong and he could see Bodie lying beside him, pretending to be asleep.  Or maybe he was hoping to get back to the dream, maybe—  Doyle reached out, and Bodie flinched as he touched his arm.  Yeah, not a dream—a nightmare.

Doyle said nothing, but he slid his hand gently along Bodie's arm, down to his wrist and back.  It was a soothing touch, but he felt the speed of Bodie's heart when his fingers rested on his pulse for a moment.  He said nothing, and didn't expect Bodie to speak.  They both knew the score with nightmares.  Take your pick for what it might have been—the bomb in his flat, Marikka's death, their near-execution at Kammahmi's residence.  It could have been something older than that, perhaps from his time in Northern Ireland, or Africa.  He slowly stroked Bodie's arm, thinking of the blood running through it—the proof of life.  Everything Doyle needed was contained within this damned fragile skin.

He smiled to himself at Bodie's probable reaction to that last thought.  Bodie had little patience for the what ifs, or for sentimentality.  _Don't get attached, Ray._   Fair enough, he'd been warned.  But Bodie had saved his life once again yesterday.  His gun had had a stoppage, and he'd been caught dead—no chance of escape.  All that had blazed through his mind, as he'd seen the gun levelled at him, had been no.  He'd wanted to live, with a fierce desire that had burned like the sun, or the explosion that would have taken them both in Bodie's flat.  No.  He'd contained his reaction, but he'd felt everything a bit more keenly after that—Cowley's irritation, the boys' fun in street footie, Marge's unrequited desire.  And most of all, he'd been aware of Bodie's steady presence.

"You're thinking about the gloves, aren't you?"

Doyle smiled as he realised his thumb had been rubbing the top of Bodie's hand—the spot he'd licked earlier; the spot the glove had not covered.  "Might have to buy you another pair."

"I'd like to see how you explain that on expenses."  Bodie rolled onto his side, and then moved to cover Doyle.

Doyle let out a breath and shifted to accommodate him.  "Training."

"Training?"  Bodie kissed Doyle's stomach.

"Yeah.  Oh, yeah.  For my new career."

"And what...would that be?"  Bodie's words were muffled against his skin.

"Seducing...ah...valuable grasses."

"So all that kissing in the car was in the line of duty, was it?"  Bodie blew on the wet line he'd left on Doyle's cock.

"Absolutely."

"Be a good time to ask for that pay rise, then."

"Don't you drop me in it again."

Bodie paused and looked up at him.  "But I like dropping you in it."

"I'll retaliate."

"Yes, you will."  Bodie grinned, and went back to encouraging Doyle's cock.

"Speaking of which, was it absolutely necessary to tell the entire squad about Marge?"

Bodie paused again, and tilted his head.  "Yes."

"Berk."

"Maybe now I can get a summons from Cowley without anyone commenting."

"Good times."  He jerked when Bodie nipped him.  "Bloody biter.  I don't know what you're hoping for, by the way."  There was no sense of urgency in him, although he revelled in the touches.  He closed his eyes.  "I thought you wanted a full night—all right, day—of sleep."

"I said I wouldn't use it for sleep."

"I would."

"You want me to stop?  Fetch you a book, perhaps?"

"Nah, might as well—ah!"  His eyes opened.  "Careful!"

"And hope springs eternal."

"Smug bastard."  But he sighed the words, and his eyes closed again as he let the sensations roll through him.  They'd arrived at his flat after the op—exhausted, but with too much nervous energy to sleep.  B & E was apparently good for the libido.  Certainly, Bodie had been inspirational in black.  "Oi, do you reckon burglars go home and shag?  Can't quite picture Sammy...." 

"Doyle."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Doyle peered down at him.  "That's not what you said earlier.  In fact...ah....  Oh."  He knew Bodie would be grinning if his mouth wasn't otherwise engaged.  As it was, he felt the snigger with his cock.  Smug, arrogant—he shouldn't let him get away with it.  But, Christ it felt good.  He reached towards Bodie, and buried his fingers in his short hair.  So bloody soft, but you wouldn't think it to look at him.  His fingers slid lower, and again he sought the pulse point.

Proof of life.  Bodie's heartbeat was strong and steady, calmer than it had been.  He should be doing this for Bodie—taking him away from whatever nightmare had gripped him.  But instead, Bodie was pleasuring him, building a sweet, slow rise within him.  He moved his head back on the pillow, and gazed at the ceiling.  His hand came to rest on the mattress, and he caught hold of the bunched sheet beneath him.

Marge had wanted him tonight—had wanted to take him home and show him all she knew of the arts of loving.  She would have surprised him, he knew, and probably would have taught him some of the benefits of experience.  But she wouldn't have matched Bodie's sure knowledge, or his generosity.  Marge was sleeping alone tonight, despite four husbands, and the men who still wanted her.  He had Bodie.

He moved his hips, pushing into Bodie, knowing Bodie would take him.  But as he pulled back, Bodie released his cock.  Doyle groaned at the loss, and Bodie's hand caressed him.  "That's right, you're feeling it now, aren't you?"   Bodie licked Doyle's balls, then slid his tongue up Doyle's cock.  Doyle held his breath as Bodie paused, hovering over the head.  "Come on, Ray."  Bodie's voice was soft and low, his breath an added sensation.  "Let me have it." 

He thrust into Bodie's mouth, feeling teeth and tongue on his skin, and a warm pressure that promised relief.  Bodie knew what he liked, knew exactly how to draw everything from him, turn him inside out.  Strong, steady, the constant presence at his back and at his side—that was Bodie.  That was his.  And then in his mind flashed an image of Lake's face as they'd toasted Williams, and the memory of Bodie walking away from him after Marikka's death.  He gasped—almost a choke—and his stomach twisted even as his balls tightened.  He pushed into Bodie, suddenly wild, needing him.  It hadn't happened, dammit.  Bodie hadn't left.  Yet a sort of desperation consumed him.  He felt Bodie's hand tighten on the base of his cock—

And Doyle eased his movements.  As quickly as he'd lost control, he regained it, steadied by Bodie's touch.  In a firefight, in bed, even when they were out with birds on a date—all they needed was a touch, a glance, and the world righted itself.  Bodie had come to him when he thought he had been betrayed by Marikka and Cowley, despite the strain that had developed between them.  He hadn't shut Doyle out, as he had when Forrest had set bombers loose on London.  _Tough bastard.  Thank God.  You won't fall._   That's what Bodie needed from him; he understood it.  And he hadn't  fallen—not when he'd nearly died today, nor when Cowley had told him Bodie was consorting with the enemy.  Bodie trusted him, as he trusted Bodie.  Side-by-fucking-side they'd face anything—bombs, and stoppages, and Cowley's bloody set ups be damned.  He felt a surge inside him, an upwelling of desire, and confidence, and gratitude.  "Bodie."  He said his name as the tide crested, and carried him through to completion.  It wasn't like the fireworks earlier; he didn't cry out or black out.  But he felt the steady connection that was theirs; the certain knowledge that he knew Bodie, and was known by him.  For the time granted them.  "No games, no deals."  He whispered the words—a reminder more for himself than for Bodie. 

He drifted, sated and content, and rode the dip and sway of the bed as Bodie moved up next to him.  He felt a light kiss brush his lips, and he thought he heard a murmur of words: "Safe.  You're safe."  But mostly he basked in the warmth of Bodie lying beside him.  He fancied he could hear his heartbeat.  His.  For a time.  Secure in body and spirit, he fell asleep.


	26. Coda to Stopover

Handguns had never been his favourite weapon.  He liked rifles, and the challenge of a long shot—factoring in distance, elevation, and wind.  He was more than proficient in the use of both, and trained with them regularly. But a handgun was an efficient tool he used in his job; a rifle, an instrument he played.  Still, as he absorbed the recoil from the Magnum in his hands, he remembered that sometimes the more personal violence of the handgun was most satisfying.

"Well, he's certainly dead.  Anyone I know?"

He'd told Doyle he was going to the range.  He shouldn't be surprised he'd followed him.  Bodie kept his eyes on the target silhouette and its obliterated face.  "No.  He's long dead."

"Not Cowley, then."

At that he did turn to Doyle, eyebrows raised.

Doyle gestured towards the target.  "Head shot.  It's what Kodai might have done."

He flipped the safety on his gun.  "But he didn't."  They were alone on the outdoor target range.  Bodie had chosen it because he hadn't wanted to be confined.

"Cowley would call it a calculated risk."

"No doubt."  He detached the spent cartridge and reached for a new one.

"You weren't happy with him." 

Bodie shrugged, keeping his eyes on the gun he was reloading.  "It worked."

"So you're fine with it."

He sighed, not hiding his irritation.  "Doyle.  Leave it."

"I handed in our report after you disappeared.  Such as it was."  Doyle looked down at the ground, a frown on his face.

"Anything new?"

"Radouk's been given to MI5."

Bodie whistled, and picked up his holster.  "I'll bet Cowley wasn't happy about that."

"I wouldn't have thought so, but he was smiling—in a grim sort of way."

"He must've got something in exchange."

"Well."  Doyle kicked a stone.  "We'll never know, will we?"

"Are you back at that again?"  Bodie shoved his gun into his holster.

"You were as annoyed as I was at being kept in the dark."  Doyle's voice was mild.

"Yeah, but it's over, isn't it?  Objective accomplished."  He strapped his holster on.

"Cowley roasted us _three_ times, and yet he knew something was up with Meredith."

"He was playing it close.  He couldn't have known if Meredith was fully in on it or a dupe."

A smile flickered across Doyle's face.  "And he wasn't sure you could fool Meredith."

"Twat.  He kept it from you too, remember."  He hoisted himself up on a short wall.  They were alone on the target range.  It seemed everyone else had found a way to skive on an unusually hot afternoon.

"Cowley said he was his best."  Doyle squinted in the sun, looking towards the trees that surrounded the range.

"People change."

"Yeah, but Meredith changed sides.  No wonder all he wanted was whisky."

"He broke."  The words came out harder and blunter than he had intended.

Doyle's eyes shifted to his, and Bodie's stomach tightened at the question he saw in them.  But all Doyle said was: "Cowley didn't seem surprised by the betrayal."

"He's seen it before.  So have we."

"Not quite like this—at least, I haven't."  Doyle paused a moment.  "Must make it hard to trust anyone."

Bodie looked away.  "If you're in Cowley's position."

"And if you're not?"

His gaze strayed to the target silhouette.  "Depends on the betrayal."  He looked back at Doyle.  "Look, Meredith never made it out of that Khmer prison.  Some people don't.  Some do."

Doyle was silent, his head bent as he frowned at the ground.  The only sounds that reached them were birds and distant traffic.  The sun was hot on Bodie's back, reminding him of another place, another time, and a broken trust.  Before him stood the only man in the world he fully trusted—refusing to ask questions he knew Bodie wouldn't want to answer.

"It was in Angola."  He saw Doyle's head lift at his words.  "My patrol was attacked by a group working with the MPLA.  Three of us survived, but we were captured by a Ukrainian mercenary named Kozyar."

Doyle glanced towards the target silhouette.  "Dead, you said?"

"Yeah."  Bodie looked into the distance.  It was all so very long ago.  Sometimes it seemed as if it had happened to someone else—as if he'd read about it.  Other times, though....  _Only some of us don't keep talking about it, right?_    He'd told Meredith the truth.  He'd never wanted to talk about it.  "In that war, you didn't know what would happen if you were captured.  You might be killed, tortured, forced to switch sides—anything.  It was up to the whim of the commander."

Doyle leaned his back against the half wall Bodie was sitting on.  "No Geneva convention."

Bodie snorted.  "Hardly.  So you did what you had to do to survive."

"And what did you do?"

"It was a simple choice.  Join them or go to the prison.  Very few ever came out of that prison."  Bodie kept his eyes on the trees.  He didn't want to see Doyle's expression, although his voice had been neutral.  "Timmons and I, we knew the score.  But Brennan—"   His throat closed unexpectedly on the name.

After a moment, Doyle said, "New man?"

"Boy."

"You couldn't have been much older yourself."

"I was born older than Brennan."  He looked down at his hands.  Brennan had once remarked at the calluses he'd developed through constant gun use.  "He was raised on notions of honour, from books and the cinema.  He couldn't reconcile that with reality."

"What happened?"

Bodie shrugged.  "What do you think?  When Kozyar saw the way it was playing out, he turned his men loose on Brennan.  It wasn't worth the effort to transport just one prisoner."  He shifted his gaze to the trees.  "We all thought Brennan was finished, but he somehow got his hands on a gun.  He shot up the camp, screaming about killing them all.  And while they were—"  He paused and took in a breath through his teeth.  "Containing him, I got away."

"What about Timmons?"

"Shot whilst trying to follow me."  He clenched his hands, feeling the tension in his arms, and an old coldness in his belly.

"What then?"

"Got back to my unit.  We eventually caught up with Kozyar."

"And you made sure he was dead."

Bodie glanced at him, and saw Doyle had folded his arms.  "More or less."

"Payback."

"Revenge."

"For Brennan's honour—or yours?"

"Neither.  He was dead.  But he thought I'd betrayed him."

"You didn't."  Doyle's tone was even.

"I escaped.  I didn't try to help him."

"What would have happened if you'd tried?"

Bodie looked away, narrowing his eyes in the sun.

"You did what you had to do.  That's why you're in CI5, mate.  And not dead in some jungle."

Bodie looked back at Doyle.  The sun glinted off Doyle's hair, and brought the green out in his eyes.  "Cowley once told me that survival wasn't my prime motivation."

Doyle's eyebrows went up.  "Anyone seeing you going after the Myer-Helmut Group all on your own could've told you that."

Surprise nearly made him laugh.  "Fuck you.  Anyway, what has that got to do with—?"

"Do you want to know what motivates you?"  Doyle unfolded his arms, and straightened to face Bodie.  There was anger in his voice, and suddenly Bodie realised just how unnaturally still Doyle had been before, as if he'd been restraining himself.  "Personal sodding loyalties, that's what.  You went after Myer because Cowley wanted him."  He gestured towards the target silhouette.  "You went after Kozyar because of what he did to Brennan.  You—"

"That's not Kozyar."

"—were bloody miserable in the car because Cowley—  What?"

Bodie pushed himself off the wall.  "That's not Kozyar.  It's Brennan."  And why in hell had he told Doyle that?  But it was almost worth it to see Doyle gape at him.

Doyle's eyes narrowed.  "No."

"Oh, yes.  What are you on about with Cowley?"

"What the fuck do you mean it's not Kozyar?"

"Kozyar was bastard, but Brennan was a fool.  He was trapped by his own inflexibility."

"He believed in something.  There's nothing wrong with—"

"There is when it gets you killed needlessly."  He walked away a step, then swung back.  "There is when you're so caught up in your image, or your objective, that you leave out bloody common sense!"

"Like you and Myer!"

"Yeah, okay, I made a mistake there—"

"It's only taken you two years to admit it."

"But once I was in it, I did my best to get us out of there alive."

"And Brennan didn't?"

"He believed in death before dishonour."

Doyle met his gaze.  "So do you."

"Okay.  Sometimes.  But first you look at the fucking alternatives."  He stepped in close to Doyle.  "Brennan knew he was going to die the moment he was captured.  He couldn't see any other options."

"Other options."  Doyle's voice was as hard as he'd expected it to be.  "Like changing sides?"

"Like buying time.  There's no law says you can't change back."

Doyle nodded.  "And in the meantime?  Shoot your old comrades, if it comes to that?"

"If it comes to that, you make your choice _then_.  At least you're alive to make it."

"That sounds like survival above all else."

Bodie stilled.  "It is."

"We wouldn't be in CI5 if we believed that."

"We wouldn't be in CI5 if survival instinct wasn't damn high up on the list.  You said it before—I'd be dead in the jungle, and you….

Doyle smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.  He nodded towards the target silhouette.  "So what brought on that demonstration?  Why are you so angry with him today?"

"I'm not."  Bodie turned away.  "What were you on about with Cowley?"

"Why'd you come out here?"

Bodie sighed.  "Look, I was restless, all right?  I came out to practise."

"You came out to blow that poor target to pieces."

"Better than—"

"Cowley?"

Bodie shook his head, and turned to face him.  "You're the one who was angry with Cowley."

"Don't give me that.  You and your sodding personal—"  Doyle stopped speaking, and looked away for a moment.  "I heard you in the car."

"In the...?  Ah."

"You said—

"'Didn't you trust us, either,' yeah, I remember.  Bothered you, did it?"  As he realised what Doyle had been stewing about, a little tendril of warmth seeped through the cold. 

"He didn't trust us, didn't tell us what was going on.  All he could offer was that bollocks about Meredith—"

"It wasn't the op."

"Dammit, I wish you'd stop doing that.  What do you mean it wasn't the op?"

Bodie let out a sound close to a laugh, although he felt no humour.  "You and Cowley, you're like peas in the pod sometimes, the way you think.  You both assume this has to do with Meredith!  I told you I understand why Cowley kept his suspicions about Meredith from us.  But think about the bloody cock-up that would have resulted if Kodai had managed to kill Cowley.  All Cowley focused on was catching Radouk.  He was playing the tethered goat, even though he didn't have all the facts.  Fair enough—it was a calculated risk, like you said.  But there was no reason for him not to tell us about the tracking device.  If he'd died, Radouk and Kodai would have got away before any of us could stop them.  It was a prime example of thinking in a rut—inflexible.  It was as pointless as Brennan not seeing his escape route.  As pointless as you—”  Bodie broke off.

"Me?  What the fuck have I—?"

"You!"  Bodie moved forward, crowding Doyle against the wall, letting all the frustration come out at last.  "You talk about me and Myer, what about you and Preston?  You were so focused on the op, you failed to notify any of us where you were meeting Brownie.  You set yourself up.  You would have died there, except—"

"You saved me."  Doyle's voice was quiet, and it cut straight through him, stopping his words.  "Like I knew you would."

Bodie felt his face twist, and he turned away.  But before he could take a step, Doyle grabbed him.

Doyle's eyes searched his face.  "That's ancient history."

"So's Myer."  He brought his expression under control, but his heart was pounding, and his arm was tense under Doyle's hold.  He'd never shown Doyle this much of the cold inside him.  Had never set his own bottom line against Doyle's commitment to his ideals.

"Bloody hell.  It's not Brennan or Cowley—you're angry with _me_!"

"I'm not."

Doyle's eyes flickered.  Bodie could practically see him making connections: Cowley's objective, Brennan's honour.   "I trust you."

"You're an idealist."  In his head he heard Doyle's voice from long ago: _Do you know what they've made of us?_   It was the reason he'd tried to keep Doyle at a distance.

"I wouldn't throw my life away."

"You would—maybe we all would in the right circumstances.  It's just—"  He looked away for a moment, then back.  "You're more like Cowley than you think."

"Maybe.  But I've got something he hasn't."

"What?"

"You.  I'm not giving up that trust—or that responsibility."

Bodie broke free of Doyle's hold.  "Matthew trusted me—until it crossed his bloody honour.  And then—"

"He saved you."

Bodie froze, and his voice was low and tight when he spoke.  "He didn't."

"What do you think he was doing when he attacked them?"

"He was like a dying animal, lashing out."

"Christ, Bodie.  He knew you, didn't he?"

"So he thought I'd help him."  He took in a breath.  "It was one last betrayal when I—"

"It was a fucking diversion!"  Doyle grabbed him again, a tight grip that bit into his arm.  "You said he was shouting, right?  Did he call you to help him?"

"No."

"What was he shouting, then?"

"Nothing.  Just about killing them—nonsense."

"He must have known you'd take the chance—you'd escape.  You and Timmons.  And that you'd come back."

Bodie shook his head.  "He thought we'd switched sides."

"To survive.  He gave you a bloody reason to switch _back_."

Bodie pulled away from Doyle.  "No."  But in his mind he heard Brennan's voice: _—kill you bastards.  He'll kill you—_  "Christ."  The word came out on a whisper.  He could see—oh, so easily see—Matthew thinking just like that.

"It's what I'd—"

And Bodie grabbed him, his mouth claiming Doyle's, trapping the rest of those damning words.  It wasn't just Cowley Doyle reminded him of.  He kissed Doyle to shut him up, to stop him, to control him.  And Doyle yielded, and matched him—and the kiss changed. It softened.  It merged with that tendril of warmth inside him.  It was then that Doyle pulled back, and Bodie let him. 

Doyle's expression was earnest.  "Your Brennan found a compromise between his honour and _you_."

Bodie closed his eyes.

"And I'm bloody grateful to him.

Bodie's eyes opened, and he tightened his grip on Doyle's shoulders.  "What I did to Kozyar for Matthew, is _nothing_ to what I'd do...."

"I know."  One side of Doyle's mouth quirked up.  "Keeps me in line, doesn't it?  What you don't always realise is that it's the same for me.  Just ask Miller."

"No."  Bodie shook him.  "You don't fucking know.  You haven't got a clue."  And Christ, he was actually going to tell him, show him all of it.  "I grew up in the jungle.  You brought Miller to justice.  What I did to Kozyar...an eye for an eye doesn't even begin to cover it."  Doyle's eyes met his, and somehow he held that gaze.  "I'm not so far from Tommy McKay."

"Okay."  Doyle's voice was quiet.

"Sod it, Doyle."  He released his hold.  "You don't."

"Bodie."  Doyle touched Bodie's mouth briefly with his fingers.  "Given the right provocation, we're all at risk of turning into Tommy."

"Not you.  Not Cowley."

"I know what would do it for me.  You haven't got a monopoly on loyalty.  If the choice were to come...."

Bodie shook his head.  "Don't bloody sacrifice yourself for me, Doyle."

"Well, I tell you what."  Doyle patted him on his arm.  "How about we go together, eh?"

Bodie raised his eyebrows.  "Together."

"Yeah.  Neater that way."

"Cowley wouldn't like it if he had to replace both of us."

Doyle smiled.  "Reason enough, wouldn't you say?"

Bodie thought about it, and slowly he grinned.  "Right."  He took in a deep breath as he looked around the range, and his eye fell on the silhouette he'd disfigured.  Poor bloody Matthew Brennan.  He still felt the anger he'd buried, but it was tempered by something approaching understanding.  What would he have done for Doyle?  He turned back to Doyle.  "Can we go home now?"

"About time."  Doyle steered him towards the entrance.  "Come on.  I'll buy you one of those expensive vitamin drinks on our way."

"What's the catch?"

Doyle looked at him wide-eyed.  "No catch.  Well, you could call it a sort of bon voyage."

"Where're you going?" 

"Not me, mate."  Doyle opened the door leading into the training centre.

"Oh, Christ.  Is it an assignment?"  He walked through the doorway, and Doyle followed.

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Doyle!"

"Cowley's orders.  You're off to the continent, mate."

"Fuck."  Bodie stopped in the hallway and looked at Doyle's grin with deep suspicion.

"Don't get into trouble, and don't talk to any strange men.  Especially if they're in uniform."

"I'm going to need that drink, aren't I?"

Doyle looked at the ceiling for a moment.  "Yes."

"Where...?"

"Don't know.  But I reckon you'd better brush up on your Russian."  He walked past Bodie down the hallway.

Bodie groaned, and followed Doyle.  Competing loyalties; forced choices.  He knew what his priorities were, but it wasn't as simple as that, was it?  He didn't have just himself to consider.  He shivered at the thought.


	27. Coda to Dead Reckoning

Doyle was waiting for him at the Capri—arms crossed, legs stretched out, apparently at his ease  Yet Bodie knew Doyle was aware of his approach, and suspected the pose was for his benefit.  He appreciated the view.  It had been more than a week since they'd been together.  A week that he had spent travelling to and from the continent, participating in the supposed Batak's debriefing, and watching Doyle being charming to Anna.  He flashed on the image of Doyle and Anna climbing the stairs towards him earlier in the day.  It was a wonder he hadn't grabbed Doyle then and there.

"What are you smiling about?"  Doyle turned his head to look at him, his eyes hidden by sunglasses.

"Job's done."

"Did you get her phone number?"

"Whose?"

"Anna's.  And where is she, by the way?  Haven't lost her, have you?"

"She's on her way to safe house seven."

"Who's with her?"

"Sally."

Doyle smiled.  "Oh, shame.  Just when you were getting the knack of holding onto her."

"Are you going to stop being decorative and get into the car?"

Doyle pushed off from the car.  "Where are we going?"

Bodie moved around to the driver's side and unlocked the door.  "My place."

Doyle climbed into the car.  "You do realise Cowley will have you moved again?"

"Fuck.  It's only been two months!"  Bodie started the car and pulled out into the street.

"Compromised flat, mate."  Doyle shook his head.

"It wasn't my fault."

"Oh yes?  And how _did_ they find you?"

Bodie sighed.  "Yeah, all right, they must have followed me.  But—"

"Compromised flat.  Ergo, you move."

"Ah, but the compromisers have all been caught."

"I should like to see you explain that logic to Cowley."

Bodie glanced at him.  "I may have fallen down on the job, but I'm not an idiot."

"You're not yourself, either.  First you allowed them to follow you, then you lost the girl. Twice."

"Twice?"

"Safe house seven?  With Sally?"

"Cowley's orders."  Bodie put on a virtuous look.  "I always follow orders."

"Like I said, you're not yourself."  And suddenly Doyle's hand was on Bodie's groin, stroking his cock.

"Gerroff!"  Bodie gripped the steering wheel hard.  "Doyle!"

"No, that's you.  I'd know that response anywhere."  Doyle removed his hand.  He had a smug look on his face.

"You—  What was that in aid of?"  He squirmed in his seat.

"Well, they replaced Batak—might have done the same with you."

"Berk." 

"You had a beautiful woman in your car for more than five minutes and you don't have her phone number?"

His stomach tightened as he realised he hadn't felt any urge to chat her up.  "She is that creature's daughter."

"Not her fault."

"You left her with me.  Turned you down, did she?"

"I didn't ask.  I am otherwise engaged."

Bodie looked at him quickly.  "Yeah?"

Doyle grinned, and leaned back.  "Toni."

"Who's that?"  It felt like a weight had suddenly shifted onto his chest.  Fuck, no.

"Girl I met while you were gallivanting on the continent."

"I was working, you know."  The pressure hadn't eased, but he had his voice and expression under control.  "Who is she, then?"

"She works in the Home Office—low level.

"All in the family, eh?"

"Cowley sent me to pick something up—and there she was."

"So you were getting your end away while I was dodging the Bulgarian military.  I see."  Bodie nodded. 

"Cowley seems to think you strike a special terror into the Bulgarians."

"They struck one into me.  I don't think I've run so fast since Macklin's last torture session."

He could feel Doyle's eyes on him.  "Bad?"  Doyle's voice was serious.

Bodie made a seesaw motion with his hand.  "We got home, didn't we?"

"Yes.  Early."

Bodie glanced at him, and let a slow grin grow.  "Interfered with your plans?"

"At least I know she seems to understand I might be called in suddenly.  She said she'd take a rain-check."

Bodie glanced at him.  "She's American?"

"Eclectic."  He smiled.  "In all ways."

"So why aren't I driving you to your place, eh?"  It cost him to say that so casually.  "You should be making it up to her."

There was a slight pause, and Bodie glanced at Doyle in time to see him shrug.  "Could do.  But...."  Doyle slanted a look at him.  "I thought I'd remind you how...demonstrative I am."

"Are you?"

"So they say."

"Who's they?"

"Do you want me to prove just how much of a softie you are?"

Bodie grinned.  "I'll take a rain-check."  He pulled into a parking spot near his flat.

"Bodie."

Bodie use his hand to retaliate for Doyle's earlier grope.  "And I'll claim it now.""

"Not in the car, you daft sod."  Yet Doyle pushed himself into his hand.

"You started it."

"That was a matter of national security."  Doyle sighed as Bodie moved back.

"Ah, but you're an exhibitionist."

"I'm a former copper."  Doyle opened the car door.  "With ideas.  Come on."  He gestured with his head and climbed out of the car.

Bodie followed Doyle up the steps to his block.  This was normal, this was familiar—like his world was sliding back into place.  He'd been unsettled since he'd left for the continent.  He unlocked the door and gestured for Doyle to go first.  Doyle gave him a grin, and led the way towards Bodie's flat.  The op had been the first time work in CI5 had taken Bodie out of the country.  Maybe it had reminded him too well of former days, and former friends.  He'd been relieved to get back home.

"Do you have any food in?"  Doyle stood next to the door as Bodie dealt with the locks.

"Not much."  Bodie went into the flat first.

"Takeaway, then?  Or—"  Doyle's voice cut off as Bodie turned and pushed him against the door.

"Later"  Bodie pressed himself against Doyle with renewed arousal.  He paused, however, as he felt Doyle wince.  "Ribs?"  His mouth was close to Doyle's ear.

"All right."  Doyle gently touched Bodie's head.  "What about you?"

"The same."  He pulled back a little from Doyle.  "You should have have had someone with you.  It's too easy to focus only on what you're seeing through the camera."

Doyle unbuttoned Bodie's jacket.  "Needed my partner—and so did you."

"Yeah."  Bodie reached out to lightly trace the plaster on Doyle's face.  "Reckon Cowley'll see it that way?"  He shrugged out of his jacket.

"Cowley will send us to Macklin."  Doyle pulled off his green jacket, tossing it on a chair.  "Or would have done.  Fortunately for us, he's occupied with Batak."

"And Anna.  She could still be used as a pawn."  He tugged on the sleeve of Doyle's sweatshirt.  "Bedroom?"

Doyle pushed off from the door.  "Not going to fuck me against the door?"

"Too fragile."

"Bodie!"

Bodie grinned as he walked into the bedroom.  "I was talking about the door."  A moment later, the wind was knocked out of him as Doyle slammed into him, propelling them both onto the bed.  "Chri—  Doyle!"  He turned his head to the side, but Doyle's weight on his back prevented him from moving.

"Feeling lively, are you?"  Doyle kissed the back of Bodie's neck, and Bodie shivered.  "Who's to say you're doing the fucking, eh?"  Doyle's hand moved down his shoulder and back, gliding over his shirt.  "God, you in black...."

Bodie tried to move again, and found that Doyle had shifted enough to let him roll over.  He cupped a hand around Doyle's neck, pulling him closer.  "I'm even better out of black."  He kissed Doyle, his thumb caressing his cheek.  When he broke the kiss, he smiled.  "But I'm having you.  It's my reward."  He climbed to his feet and unbuttoned his shirt.

"How do you reckon that?"  Doyle unfastened his jeans, then stood as well.

"Dangerous op."

"We were both involved in that."  Doyle pulled his sweatshirt up over his head.  The bruising on his ribs was spectacular.

Bodie moved towards Doyle.  "Yes, but I had a double dose while you were flirting with American-influenced Home Office birds."  He lightly traced Doyle's discoloured skin.

Doyle sucked in his breath.  "Only one.  And travel seems reward—  Oh."  His words disappeared into a moan as Bodie's hand slid into his opened jeans.

Bodie cupped him, pushing Doyle's jeans down while he nuzzled his neck.  "You were saying?"

"You're still overdressed."  Doyle pulled Bodie's shirt off his shoulders, then stepped out of his own jeans and pants.

Bodie slid his trousers off.  "So, tell me about this—Toni, is it?"

"Later."  Doyle moved in close to him, rubbing their cocks together.

Bodie manoeuvred them towards the bed.  "She must be something."

"Hmm.  She's nice."  Doyle twisted and suddenly Bodie found himself on the bed again, with Doyle on top of him.  Doyle grinned down at him.  "How about a double, eh?  You and...."  He frowned.  "Who are you seeing these days?"

Bodie smiled, although inside his stomach clenched.  "It's a mystery."

"Since when?"  Doyle licked the base of Bodie's throat.  "I'll set it up."

"Ray—"  He cut off the words, dismayed at his immediate desire to squash the plan.

"What?"  The frown was back on Doyle's face.

Bodie put his hand on the back of Doyle's neck again, then moved it up to his head to pull him down. They kissed with hard urgency, as if they'd been apart for more than a week.  Bodie rolled them onto their sides, one leg slid between Doyle's, and he pressed forward, matching his body to Doyle's.  He pushed his tongue into Doyle's mouth, and reclaimed his territory.  Doyle opened for him, but when Bodie tried to roll them over further, Doyle resisted.  Bodie clamped his arms around Doyle, exerting pressure on him to yield.

Doyle broke the kiss.  "Bo—"

Bodie took his mouth again.  Doyle shifted, found some purchase, and rolled them nearly onto Bodie's back.  Bodie caught Doyle's lip in his teeth—biting him.  Doyle jerked away, and Bodie took advantage of the distraction, pinning Doyle to the bed.  Doyle squirmed, but Bodie blocked his efforts to free himself.  He moved his mouth to Doyle's chest, marking him.

"Bodie, sod it.  Would you—"  Doyle tried to arch off the bed, but Bodie held him down.  He found a nipple and latched on.  Doyle shuddered.  He was breathing quickly, and there was a sheen of sweat on his body.  Bodie lifted his head and saw Doyle looking at him through slitted eyes.  He let himself smile.  "Fuck you," Doyle snarled, and renewed his efforts.

Bodie rode the twisting body, anticipating Doyle's moves.  His cock was hard, and sensation jolted through him as Doyle strained against him.  His eye fell on the handcuffs that dangled off his bedpost.  His pulse leapt, as if he'd been shot at.  He remembered:  _All eyes and gasping, every nerve in his body exploding, begging—_   And all his.  His.  He pushed down on Doyle, risked using one arm, and snagged the handcuffs.  Doyle must have heard something, because he stopped moving—his stillness so sudden, Bodie looked at him.

Doyle's mouth was red, but his face hard, like it was on the job.  Bodie froze, and Doyle was able to free one of his arms.  He reached towards Bodie's face, brushed his cheek, then cupped the back of Bodie's head.  For a moment Bodie resisted the pull, then he gave in and met Doyle in a kiss that was as urgent as before, but somehow softer, and deeper.  Bodie closed his eyes until Doyle pushed him away.

"That's what you want?" Doyle's voice was low.

Bodie eyed the mark he'd left on Doyle's lip, then met his gaze.  "Trust me."

"You know I do."  Doyle's eyes narrowed.  "You're looking for proof?"

"No."  His denial was quick and sincere, and yet....  He bowed his head; rested it on the curve of Doyle's collarbone.  He felt each breath Doyle took.

"How do you want me?"

Bodie kissed Doyle's skin. He lifted his head.  "Stretch your arms up."

Doyle hesitated a moment, then he reached back to the brass bed board, his eyes never leaving Bodie's.  Bodie slid his hand along Doyle's right arm, following the curve of muscle and bone.  He felt Doyle shiver as he closed one cuff on his wrist.  Suddenly, Doyle's other hand circled Bodie's wrist, and held him.

Bodie looked at him. "What?"

"Find the key."

Bodie nodded, and Doyle released his wrist.  His fingers stroked along Bodie's back and side as Bodie stretched towards the bedside cabinet.  Bodie found the key, and the lube, and placed them within easy reach on the bed.  He returned to Doyle, threaded the handcuffs through the rail, then closed the second one on Doyle's wrist.  He looked at Doyle, and felt a jolt in his stomach and cock.  Doyle's arms were stretched behind him, chest muscles taut, stomach flattened.  His cock was hard and rising.  Doyle—confined, controlled, but the expression in his eyes belied his condition.

Bodie groaned, and he fell upon Doyle's mouth and body.  He heard a clank as the handcuffs were pulled against the bed board.  Doyle's mouth and tongue were anything but submissive as Bodie kissed him.  The contrast fired Bodie—the sure knowledge that Doyle might allow himself to be restrained, but never fully dominated.  He finally pulled away from Doyle's mouth and slid further down in the bed.  He had free rein over Doyle's body and he lingered where he chose, without the usual distraction of Doyle's hands on him.  And yet he found himself no less guided by Doyle's needs—attuned to shifts in his breathing, and sudden contractions.  And then there were the words.  He doubted even a gag would quiet Doyle.

"Get on with it, you bastard.  Get...God."  Bodie grinned, but he slid away from the thrust of Doyle's cock.  "Bodie!"

"it's my show, Ray."  He swept a hand up and down Doyle's chest, all the way to his groin.  "As slow or as fast as I want it to be."

"I thought...you wanted to fuck me?"

"I will.  In time."

"I can make you—  Ah... Christ."  Doyle's head went back as Bodie licked his cock.  But he returned immediately to Doyle's stomach, and only slowly moved down to his thighs, and then his balls.  He gave Doyle just enough stimulus to keep his focus, make his cock needy, but not enough to send him over the edge to release.  Doyle writhed beneath him, his movements triggering an answering need in Bodie—as neat a seduction as any Bodie had seen.  But he had himself under control, and his goal was the image Maggie had suggested to him all those months ago.  The sound of the handcuffs against the bed board was a constant reminder of his intent.

"I'm going...to kill you, you know."  Doyle's words came out in gasps.

Bodie grinned, and slid his hand along Doyle's cock.  "Bad form in a partner."

"You're...killing me."

"Not quite.  You can give it a go later, though."  Bodie suddenly took Doyle's cock into his mouth, and as quickly released it.  "If there's anything left of you."

"Bodie.  For fuck's sake...."  The muscles in Doyle's arms were strained, pulling against the cuffs.

"It's just the start, Ray."  He took Doyle's cock in his mouth again, this time giving him exactly what he needed.  Doyle cried out, and Bodie heard the restraint in it—the fear that Bodie would take the rush away, as he'd taken it away before.  But Bodie let him come, let him arch off the bed, let him fill his throat.  When Doyle was finished; when he was still, Bodie released him.  He moved up on the bed.  "All right?"

Doyle laughed, a bit breathlessly.  "Could say that."  He opened his eyes halfway, and his mouth curved in a half smile.

"Good."  Bodie traced a pattern down Doyle's chest, from his collarbone to his stomach.

"Get the key."

Bodie smiled to himself and continued his stroking.

"You know I'll make it good for you."

"I told you."  Bodie glanced at Doyle, then back to the skin that called to him.  "It's just the start."  He kissed Dole's stomach, and rolled on top of him.

"Let me—  It's your turn."

"Not quite."

"Come on, mate, come on."  Doyle ground against Bodie's cock, cupping him with his thighs.

"Not yet.  I'm not done with you."  Bodie bit one of Doyle's nipples, rode the flinch, and used his tongue to both soothe and stimulate.

"Don't know what you're expecting."  But Doyle's voice was strained, and again he heard the scrape of handcuffs on metal.

He wanted Doyle out of his mind, begging, exhausted—well-fucked.  He set to work on him with his tongue, teeth, and hands.  He sought the areas of Doyle's body he'd ignored the first time—nipples, chest, arms, arse.  When he finally he uncapped the tube and coated his fingers with lube, Doyle's breath was coming in short gasps.  His cock was half-hard again, and his head was back, his eyes closed, angled away from Bodie.  "Ray.  Ray."  Bodie's pulse was throbbing, like drums in his blood.

Slowly, Doyle's head turned and he opened his eyes.

"Lift your legs."  He felt the tremble in Doyle's muscles as he moved to obey, and he guided Doyle's legs over his shoulders, positioning himself to thrust into him. It was all he could do to keep from plunging straight in.  His cock was swollen, aching, demanding the pressure and slick warmth he'd find within Doyle.  He bit his lip swallowing a cry as he eased forward, tightly controlled, pushing slowly through the resistance of Doyle's anal muscle.  Doyle groaned—a long, guttural sound.  Bodie wrapped his lube-slicked fingers around Doyle's cock, and heard Doyle's breath catch.  He pushed again, and he was there—inside Doyle, surrounded by him, and free at last to move. 

"Bodie."  He barely recognised Doyle's voice.

He pulled back, thrust in, and pulled back in a rhythm as natural as breathing.  The body beneath him took him in, held him, and moved as he did.  Christ it was going to be fast now that he'd finally, finally let it go.  He thrust in hard, seeking to go as deeply as he could, seeking...ties; ownership.  Doyle was his, _his_ —he'd bind him forever.  Tie him down, take him—

"Wanna...touch you."

His hand tightened on Doyle's now fully engorged cock.  He raised his head, needing to see him; see the connection....  Doyle's eyes were closed—squeezed shut, as if in pain.  His teeth were clenched, the muscles in his neck easily defined.

_All eyes and gasping, every nerve in his body exploding, begging—_

He stopped, immediately still, as if he'd been caught in a mine field—caught on the edge of disaster.  This wasn't—  No.  He pulled out of Doyle, ignored the cry that came from Doyle's throat.  He fumbled for the key, and lunged to unlock the handcuffs.  Doyle's legs fell from his shoulders.  The cuffs sprang open, and he dropped them behind the bed.  He eased down and found Doyle's mouth on his.  He moaned—a quick, helpless sound, and Doyle's arms came around him, cradling him.  Doyle spread his fingers over his back, and lifted his legs.

"Bodie...finish it."

Bodie pushed back into him, plunging deep again into the warmth, but now it seemed to surround more than just his cock.  "Ray."

"Sodding bastard.  Move!  On me.  Oh, yeah."

He felt the surge and pressure as Doyle's cock spurted.  Then the final drive to his own release took over.  Everything faded but the need to move.  Completion rolled through him like a thunderstorm on the African plain—wild, and powerful, and overwhelming.  It seemed a long time before he fell at last onto Doyle.  A moment later, he slipped to his side as Doyle manoeuvred out from under him—as he always would.  He closed his eyes until he felt a hand brush against his cheek.  Doyle lay beside him.  Their legs were still entangled.

"Maybe you should travel abroad more often."  There was humour in Doyle's voice, but a question in his eyes.

"We'd never survive it."  Bodie smiled, yet he felt a twist of something close to pain.  He'd missed Doyle, as he'd expected to.  But it wasn't just the lack of sex, or companionship, or protection for his back that had caused it.  It was all of those, and more.  It was the humour that now spread to Doyle's eyes, and the triumph it gave him to see it.  It was the sure knowledge he'd give his life for Doyle's.  It was the trust Doyle held in him.  The truth had been laid bare the moment he'd freed Doyle.

"At least we'd go together."

"Missed me, did you?"  Bodie rolled over onto his back, but he put his hand on Doyle's thigh, as Doyle matched his move.

"Now and again.  Could've used you at darts the other night."

"Who were you playing?"

"Anson and Liz."

"We'd've lost."

"Nah, you would have distracted Liz."

Bodie raised his head.  "Yeah?"

"Judging by the way she kept asking about you."

Bodie settled down again.  "Ah, well.  Told you it’s the outside that slays them."

"And the smugness that keeps you fancy free."

"Maybe I should ask her on this double date scheme of yours."

"Three of us?  I wouldn't do that to Toni."

"Sounds kinky like that."

Doyle shifted onto his side again.  "Find someone else and I'll pay for the tickets."

"What tickets?"  His sudden suspicion was not allayed by Doyle's innocent expression.  "You're on your own, sunshine."

"I'll make it worth your while."  Doyle stroked Bodie's chest, his thumb scraping across his nipple.

"Lost cause tonight."

"But there's tomorrow."

For a long moment, Bodie looked at Doyle's wicked smile.  "You're on."  And he willingly walked into a cage of his own making, as Doyle flew free.


	28. Coda to The Madness of Mickey Hamilton

A full glass of beer suddenly appeared in front of him.  Bodie glanced up and saw Murphy standing next to him at the bar.

"You looked thirsty."

Bodie straightened and reached for the glass.  "Ta."  He eyed the remains of the beef sandwich on the plate in front of him, but he was finished with it.

"Long day?"

Murphy's own beer glass was a little more than half full.  He must have been in the pub a while before he'd come over.  Bodie took a quick look around to see if he'd missed anyone else.  Self-absorption could be as deadly as distraction.  He didn't see any other agents, and looked back at Murphy.  "Long enough."

"I heard you stopped what could have been a very nasty incident at the conference centre."

"We did our bit.  Doyle talked him out of it."  And then Shannon had wasted all Ray's efforts.

"Where is your other half?"

Bodie shrugged, and looked away.  "Don't know."  He swallowed some of the beer, and voices echoed in his head:  _Fancy a drink?  No.  Got things to do._   Doyle had walked away from him—the same old pattern.  He'd invite Bodie in if it was a case like the Hayden affair, and shut Bodie out if it touched on his conscience.   "We're not attached at the hip, you know."

"Aren't you?"

Bodie allowed a small smile.  "Hard to dodge bullets that way."

"And yet you're alive."

"Thanks to Doyle."

"I rest my case."

Bodie shook his head, and felt a genuine smile grow.  "I wouldn't go into law, if I were you."

"Law enforcement seems to be my lot."

"You were military, weren't you?"

"Paras."  Murphy glanced at him.  "Like you."

"Glad to be out?"

"Yes, except I miss the jumps."

Bodie swilled his beer.  In the months since he'd joined the squad, Murphy had gained a reputation for quiet competence.   "A few of us go out now and again.  You'd be welcome to join us."

Murphy raised his eyebrows.  "Thank you.  I'd like that."

Bodie nodded.  Doyle never wanted to go jumping.  He had been trained, but it hadn't got into his blood.  "What else do you do for fun?"

"If I've got the time, I go climbing."

"Yeah?  Where do you go?"

"All over.  On my last leave I went to north—Torridon and Applecross."

"Like the wilderness, do you?"

Murphy shrugged.  "Sometimes.  I like the space."

"With the spice of danger."

Murphy smiled, and he looked at Bodie as if surprised.  "Yeah, maybe."

He saw Murphy had finished his beer.  "Another?"

Murphy's eyes lingered on him.  "Yes."

Bodie signalled the barman.  What did Doyle do when he went off on his own?  Everyone needed space now and again—he certainly had after Marikka.  He had spent that night drinking.  And then Doyle had found him.  What the fuck did Doyle do?

"You were in the SAS then, weren't you?"

Bodie glanced at Murphy.  "Yeah."  Maybe Toni had forgiven Doyle for abandoning her at the hospital.  His hand tightened on the beer glass.  He wouldn't begrudge Doyle the release.

Murphy picked up the beer the barman brought him.  "It must have been something of a shock, being partnered with a copper."

"Ex."

"Is it ever really ex?"

Bodie smiled into his beer glass.  "That depends."  _I'm a former copper—with ideas._

"On what?"

He wasn't going to talk about Doyle.  "You're on the Bryson op, aren't you?"

"I was."

Bodie looked his question.

"It blew up in our faces.  Literally."

"Ah."

"Yes, we had the explosion you avoided.  Bryson was killed.  His unknown backer remains unknown.  And Pennington is in hospital overnight with relatively minor injuries.  Mr Cowley was not pleased."

"Careless of Pennington."

"Cowley's exact words."

"Welcome to CI5, mate."

"Cheers."  Murphy toasted him with his glass.

"So you're here, drowning your sorrows, eh?"

"It seemed the traditional thing to do."  Murphy tilted his head.  "And you?"

"Ah, well, we were successful, weren't we?  We stopped the mad bomber dead."

"So you did."

Bodie looked down at his glass.  "Yeah."

"Why is it I get the idea you're not celebrating?"

Bodie shrugged.  "I'm glad he's stopped."

"But?"

"Well, he's not our usual type, is he?  Not political, not criminal—just unbalanced."

"Yet deadly."

"Yes."  It was that very ordinariness that had made it possible for Hamilton to infiltrate the hospital and the conference centre.  And it was why he'd got under Doyle's skin.  Bodie studied the beer in his glass.  Would it have been better for Mickey Hamilton to have lived?  He would have spent the rest of his life in a prison of one type or another.

"There are other ways for us to deal with an op."

He looked at Murphy sideways.  "What do you have in mind?"

Murphy's eyes flickered as he blinked, and then he set his glass down on the bar top.  "Shooting, actually."

"Shooting."

"I hear you like the target range."

"You hear a lot."

"And that you're the...second best with a rifle on the squad."

"Second?  I think you have that wrong, mate."

Murphy smiled.

"Oh, ho.  You think you can take me on?"

"I do.  I bet the night range is open...."

"The cheek of the lad.  All right, you're on."  Bodie finished his beer.

Murphy's smile widened, and he gestured for Bodie to precede him to the door.  Bodie eyed him as he moved past.  Hadn't there been something mentioned about Murphy being trained as a sniper?

The sun had set since he'd gone into the pub, and the pavement was wet from an apparent shower.  The air was still heavy with moisture, but it had cooled.  As he approached the kerb, he heard a motorcycle revving, and a headlamp suddenly bathed him in light.  Bodie abruptly stepped back, squinting towards the light.  Murphy stopped beside him.  A moment later, Bodie checked Murphy's move for his gun.  He knew that bike—and the biker.

The bike glided forward until it was right in front of them.  Doyle was dressed in leather, and had his helmet on.  He said nothing, but reached behind him and released a second helmet from the cord that bound it to the seat.  He held it out towards Bodie.

"Another time, Murphy."  Bodie took the helmet and moved towards the bike.

"Yeah."

Bodie swung onto the bike behind Doyle, and they took off before he'd finished putting his helmet on.  He didn't look back.  He placed his hands on Doyle's waist, and held on, content to go wherever Doyle took them.  The leather was cool to his touch.  They wound through London traffic, edging past cars and in between lanes.  Doyle drove aggressively, but he wasn't being reckless.  They paused at a roundabout and Bodie leaned forward, his helmet next to Doyle's.

"Do you know where you're going?"

He wasn't surprised when Doyle didn't answer.  Even through leather he could feel the tension beneath his hands, and Doyle wasn't flowing with the bike as he usually did.  Doyle hadn't wanted to talk; hadn't wanted to go drinking.  But he had come for Bodie.  He felt his own tension easing as he rode with Doyle.  They left the city behind them, and eventually most of the traffic.  Bodie eased forward, wrapped his arms around Doyle, and leaned against his back.

The miles flew past on tree-lined, curving roads.  Once in a while they would break out into the open, crossing the crest of a hill before plunging back into darkness.  The moon was a fitful presence, obscured by fast-moving clouds.  Bodie put his trust in Doyle—and the cats' eyes marking the road.  Gradually, Doyle's body softened in his arms, providing support rather than resistance.  The bike raced on.

He knew they'd gone southeast out of London, and then they seemed to turn in a more easterly direction.  It didn't matter.  Doyle needed the ride—the freedom that darkness and speed would give him.  But eventually it became clear that Doyle had a destination in mind, after all.  They turned onto another road, smaller than the others.  The trees on one side gave way to a high stone wall.  Doyle slowed the bike, then stopped it altogether as they reached an open gate in the wall.  Doyle stretched his leg to the ground, bracing them.

There was a light fixture above a small bronze plaque on the wall, next to the gate.  Bodie read the the words on the sign: St. Lucinda's.  His stomach tightened, and he pulled off his helmet.  After a moment, Doyle pulled his off as well.

"She's in there," Doyle said.  "Somewhere."

"Yeah."  Bodie climbed off the bike.

"An orphan now."

"Don't you mean to say a dying orphan?"  Bodie walked away a couple of steps, and stretched a kink out of his back.  All the tension had returned.

"Bodie."

He turned back to Doyle.  "What's this in aid of, eh?"

Doyle's eyes were on the building in the distance, beyond the gateway.  "He said we should see her."

"What would be the point?"

Doyle's head swung back his way.  "Does there need to be one?  Obligation."

"Another word for guilt."  He didn't know why, but he was suddenly angry.  Shannon had killed Hamilton—not Doyle.  And it could have been any of them doing it. Doing their job.  "He killed three doctors."

"I bloody know that!"  Doyle slapped the tank of his bike.

"Look."  Bodie moved forward, right against Doyle's leg.  "You did your best, right?  Shannon was too keen.  It wasn't your—"

"He trusted me."

"Did he?  Why'd he run, then?  He put himself into that situation—into the line of fire."

"He was scared."

"Or he wanted to die."

Doyle stared at him.  "Suicide by—"

"Copper.  Yeah."

"No."

"Why not?   His life was over.  It had ended a long time ago."

"He was fucked up."

Bodie reached out and brushed Doyle's face with his fingers.  "There we agree."

Doyle was still for a moment, and then he sighed.  "He should have been helped."

"Yeah.  You tried."

"Not good en—"

"Sod it, Doyle."  Bodie took Doyle's face in his hands.  "Don't be an idiot."

He felt Doyle's smile.  "Know me well, do you?" 

"I know you'd blame yourself for—"

Bodie's words were cut off as Doyle darted forward, taking his mouth in a hard kiss.  After a moment, the kiss softened, and Bodie slid one of his hands to the back of Doyle's head, threading his fingers through hair.  There was no real urgency in the kiss, but it struck through Bodie with the sweetest pleasure—like the ringing of a clear, high bell.

Finally, Doyle broke the kiss, but Bodie kept his hold on him, and leaned his forehead against Doyle's.  "Ready to go home?" 

Doyle nodded.

"My turn with the bike."

Doyle pulled back, then gave him a quick kiss. "Dreamer."  He turned on the seat and fired the bike's ignition.

"Hoarder."  Bodie swung onto the back of the bike again.r32;r32;Doyle looked at him over his shoulder.  "My bike.  Remember, possession is nine tenths—"

"Yeah, yeah."  Bodie lifted his helmet to put it on.  But as Doyle turned his head to the front again, Bodie leaned in close to his ear.  "And you remember who owns your arse."  He pulled back to put his helmet on, but he caught a glimpse of the grin on Doyle's face.

Doyle put his helmet on.  Bodie wound his arms around Doyle again, and they headed back the way they'd come.  They'd leave the case behind, as they had left so many others—adjust and carry on.  He felt the truth of that in the way Doyle was now one with the bike, and with him.  Together they sped through the night towards London.


	29. Coda to A Hiding to Nothing

This time Doyle managed to hold onto his possessions when he fumbled with the door lock, but it was a close run thing. He was tired, hungry—and oddly unsettled considering the op had been successful. Khadi was on his way home, and no longer their responsibility. They’d discovered and broken the terrorist cell that had planned to kill him. Bloom had disappeared into the Israeli Embassy and would likely be on the next flight out. No one had died, other than the terrorists—although Frances Cottingham was still in hospital.

He pushed open the door, and the tension inside him eased. There was a light on in the hall, and the smell of food. He set his bags and the books down on the floor. He’d seen little of Bodie after they’d taken Shelley and the others in. Cowley had sent him with Doad and Khadi, while Bodie had stayed behind for the interrogations. When Doyle had arrived at HQ, he’d met Bodie on his way to his car:

“Food run?”

“Didn’t they feed you at this diplomatic soiree?“

“No. Not a thought for the hired help.”

“Shame.” The twitch of Bodie’s mouth had belied his tone of voice.

“You’ve eaten, haven’t you?“

“Murphy brought in fish and chips.”

“Typical.” But he’d sensed that something was bothering Bodie. “Where are you off to?”

“Got some things to do.” Bodie had moved past him, towards the car. “See you later, eh?”

“Will I?”

Bodie had glanced back at him, and had only given him an equivocal wave of his hand.

Yet here he was—or had been. The lounge was empty, so Doyle headed to the kitchen, only to find it empty as well. The smell of fish was stronger however, and he found plaice and chips in a pan, keeping warm in the oven. His stomach growled, but he turned and left the room. The door to his bedroom stood open. There was no light coming from it. He paused on the threshold of the room. Bodie was on the bed, silent and still, fully dressed, and apparently asleep. Doyle studied him for a moment, then returned to the kitchen.

He relished the fish and chips, washed them down with a beer, visited the loo, and went back to see if Bodie had awakened. The light from the hallway showed Bodie still curled on his side, one knee above the other. He had taken his shoes off. Doyle wanted nothing so much as to crawl into bed beside him and fall asleep. But he doubted he would be able to get any closer without waking Bodie. And for some reason, he didn’t want to disturb him. He wanted this quiet moment; this peacefulness that was so rare for them.

They had been sleeping together, on and off, for over a year. The surprising thing about that wasn’t the sex, but the sleeping. They didn’t always stay together through the night—less than half the time, perhaps. But it wasn’t uncommon, either. Bodie claimed he could sleep anywhere, yet Doyle had rarely picked him up at a bird’s flat. That first night, however, he’d stayed at Doyle’s.

The last person he’d slept with was Shelley. “Infiltrate the block,” Cowley had told him. Sniff about, and get to know the roommate. They’d all known what that meant—and Bodie had bet him he wouldn’t make a dent in the air hostess facade. He’d won the bet, but he’d felt nothing. Certainly nothing like what he felt in this room, watching Bodie sleep.

He should leave; sleep on the couch; go back to HQ. Instead, Doyle moved forward. He’d taken his shoes off, and his feet made no sound as he approached the bed. Nevertheless, he saw Bodie twitch, and his eyes open.

“It’s just me.”

“It’s about time you got here.” Bodie rolled slowly onto his back, one hand rubbed at an eye. “What time is it, anyway.”

“Dunno.” Doyle sat down on the edge of the bed. “Thanks.”

Bodie shrugged. “I reckoned your report would take some time.”

“That it did.” He frowned a little. “Where did you run off to?”

“Oh.” Bodie stretched. “Had to clean up the surveillance at Frances Cottingham’s home.”

“Ah.” He looked down as Bodie’s hand landed on his thigh.

“You’re still dressed,” Bodie said softly.

“So are you.” He hesitated, as if at the door of a room he had to sweep. He wanted something else from Bodie. He reached out and touched his cheek briefly. “What is it?”

Bodie was silent, and Doyle felt the withdrawal, although Bodie didn’t move. A wry expression suddenly crossed Bodie’s face. “Trust you.”

Doyle smiled, but he kept quiet. He’d made the offer, it was up to Bodie to take it or not.

“It’s nothing, really.” Eyelashes veiled Bodie’s eyes as he looked down.

Doyle waited a moment, and then he sighed. “Yeah. Okay.” He rubbed Bodie’s hand, still on his thigh. “You were—”

“Doyle.” Bodie’s hand lifted to Doyle’s mouth, stopping his words.

Doyle kissed Bodie’s fingers, and looked at him.

“I was thinking about Francis Cottingham.”

Doyle raised his eyebrows. “What about her?”

“There she was—everything crashing around her, but she held her head up. She kept her dignity, even in front of Cowley and her boss. She was ready to help us.”

“She committed treason.”

“Yeah.” Bodie met his gaze. “But she didn’t try to dodge the responsibility.”

“Maybe she wanted to get back at the lover who had betrayed her.”

“Maybe.”

“But?”

“All she did was set the trap. She didn’t force him into it. It was his choice to use the information she gave him—to betray her. She played it fair, even with him.”

No excuse stoicism. It was Bodie’s own ideal. No wonder Frances had got under his skin. “Her career may be finished, but Masterson thinks the world of her. She’ll be all right.”

“Yeah.” Bodie took in a breath, and averted his gaze. “Of course.” His hand was back on Doyle’s thigh, and he moved it closer to Doyle’s groin. “Come to bed, eh?”

It was retreat, and Bodie’s eyes were hidden from him again. “Yeah.” But he sat still. Risk was something they lived with every day. He knew what to do in a firefight—knew what Bodie would do. It was a hard won knowledge. Bodie’s voice sounded in his head: _We're bloody equals, and damn good on the job._ But there was an older memory. A memory of Bodie’s eyes, belying the words he’d spoken when they’d first met. He’d seen the doubt in them, the question of whether Doyle would measure up. It had taken them both laying it on the line in their first firefight for that expression to change.

“Ray?”

Equal strength, equal vulnerability—that was their partnership. It worked on the job. He took in a deep breath. “I’m knackered, mate. Sleep?” And his stupid heart was beating as if he was about to go into a fight. He didn’t want Bodie to leave. He wanted honesty for honesty.

Bodie was still for a long moment, his face unrevealing. And then his expression softened. “Better turn out the light, then.”

And so he left the bed, turned out the light, undressed, and returned to find Bodie undressed, under the duvet, and waiting for him. What was so fucking different about it? Climbing into bed with Bodie was nothing unusual. Yet he could feel the tension in Bodie’s body, and in his own. He smiled at that: sodding equals, indeed. “Pansy.”

“Shut up, Doyle.”

The laugh in Bodie’s voice was enough. He settled in next to him—not touching, but close enough to feel warmed by his heat. “Takes one to know one.”

“Wanker.”

“Well, not tonight.”

“Wore you out, did she?”

“Who?”

“Your terrorist bird.” Bodie shifted, brushing against him. “How quickly they forget.”

“With reason.”

“I knew she was trouble the moment I saw her.”

“Don’t give me that. You proposed the bet.”

“And you the other one.” And as suddenly as that, the laughter was gone.

Doyle kept his voice quiet. “She played it fair. You have to admire that.”

“Yes.”

Doyle waited, as he’d wait for Bodie to get into position.

“It was just—” Bodie’s voice, as soft as it was, faded away. Doyle heard him take a breath and release it. “She thought she had it, you know? At last. After spending her life doing her duty. Serving…. She had something that was just hers. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. And it was her secret.”

“Like a kid hiding hiding his treasures in a box.” Part of the joy was in the safe-held secret.

“Yeah. Until it all came out into the unremitting glare of the sun. And the treasure turned to ashes. The unacceptable face of espionage.”

Doyle put his fingers on Bodie’s wrist. “He knew she’d done it.”

“Delgado?”

“Bloom. Yeah. He knew it as soon as he saw us. He was relieved, I think.”

“He was doing his bloody job.”

“Like we all do.”

Bodie turned onto his side. HIs arm slid across Doyle’s chest, and his face pressed against Doyle’s shoulder. “Stupid,” Bodie said into Doyle’s skin.

“It’s okay.” He murmured the words, and closed his eyes. Gradually, he felt Bodie relax against him, and his breathing evened out. Doyle opened his eyes and looked into the darkness. He’d stared at the ceiling while in bed with Shelley as well. And he’d thought of Bodie. He’d been sated, but that was all. Now…oh fuck,it was dangerous to be feeling so much. No games, no deals in his relationship with Bodie—he’d promised that after Marikka had died. After he’d almost lost him for good.

Yet Bodie had come to him for help when he hadn’t trusted Cowley. And Bodie had trusted him to understand tonight. He’d stayed. He’d met Doyle halfway. Strength for strength, vulnerability for vulnerability. _It was hers. And it was her secret._

His secret was shared. And maybe, just maybe, the treasure was as well. Bodie’s arm was heavy on his chest, like an anchor—a foundation for sudden, soaring hope. Bodie had let him in.


	30. Coda to Runner

It was the closest he'd ever come to kissing Doyle in public.  It would only have been slightly more insane than the two of them pulling the detonator on the bomb planted at Darrow Lane car park.  The manic glee in Doyle's eyes had matched his own, and he had had to force himself to turn away.  Fortunately, Cowley had chosen that moment to walk towards them, and that had effectively—

"That Cowley is a cold one, isn't he?"  Sylvie was staring straight ahead.

Bodie concentrated on navigating the car through a lane change.  "I wouldn't say so."

"He doesn't care whether I live or die."

Shock affected people in different ways.  In the case of Sylvie, it seemed to have made her more combative.  "He's doing what he can for you."

"Oh, yes."  She laughed.  "He had me brought to your headquarters, questioned me until he realised I was of no further use, and now he's sending me back to to the Organisation."

"He's not sending you to the Organisation. He told me to take you home—or wherever you want to go."  He wanted to go home.  Doyle had said he'd pick up some food and have it ready by the time he got there.

"I haven't got a home—you bloody well saw to that."

"No one has touched your flat."

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

Bodie shrugged.  It was possible that Cowley had had Sylvie's flat searched while she waited at HQ, but if so, she wouldn't be able to detect it.  "It is your flat."

"The Organisation knows that as well as you do."

"The Organisation is not interested in you."

"I killed one of their men.  Do you think they're just going to let that be?"

Bodie shook his head.  "Cowley told you.  The official report will say Doyle killed Duffy."

"Do you think that matters?  Do you think they won't know?"

He changed gear.  "What if they do?  You said they wanted your help stopping Duffy."

"They do their own killing.  They don't like interference."

Bodie slowed as they approached a jammed roundabout.  "They won't know."

"I'm sure they have eyes inside CI5."

"We're not the police."

"Ah, you're incorruptible, is that it?"  Her tone was derisive.

"Cowley's security is top-notch."

"Yeah—and he threw out an innocent man.  That speaks of paranoia, not security."

Bodie accelerated onto the roundabout, nipping in front of a lorry.  "Morgan—"

"Died trying to prove himself to you lot.  I don't know why the hell he bothered."

"Then why did you bother, eh?"  After a few moments, when there was no reply, he glanced over at her.  Sylvie was looking out the side widow.  Her hands were clenched on her lap.  "It's a simple question: why?"

"Why what?"

 _Why did you save Doyle?_   "Why did you...kill Duffy?"

"Why do you think?"

"Revenge.  Although...." He trailed off, and glanced at her in time to catch a tight smile.

"Why would I kill my new lover in revenge for my old, is that it?"

"You were seen with Duffy."  He kept his tone neutral.

"That was business."

"Ah.  Bad gamble."

"Yeah.  Story of my life."

"So it was revenge, then."  But it still didn't quite add up for him. 

"Call it what you will."

"Then you tell me how it was."

"Why should I?"  He could feel her eyes on him as he changed lanes.  "Does it matter?"

"You lured Doyle there happily enough."

"Hardly.  They made it very clear—"

"No.  You weren't frightened when you met Doyle."

"How would you know?"

"He's my partner.  We talked."  _She changed in a flash—told me to get out.  Morgan was right about her._

"I see.  That's why you were tapped to drive me home?"

"It could have been any of us."

"But not Doyle."

He glanced at her.  "No."

"I don't regret what I did."  Her voice was hard.

"Neither do I."  The traffic eased enough to let him accelerate and change to a higher gear.  "You were working for Duffy before you heard about Morgan.  You knew what Duffy planned to do to Doyle."

She looked down at her hands.

"He told you about his brother, right?  You reckoned that justified him killing Doyle?"

"I know nothing's black and white.  Anyway, it didn't have anything to do with me."

"Except you'd've been responsible for getting him there."

"They forced me!"

He looked at her for a moment, then back at the traffic.

"Fine!  You want the truth?  All I wanted was all of you out of our lives.  Morgan and me.  Doyle came round to our flat when all this started, right?  And he got Morgan thinking back to the old days.  Got him involved in the very thing that nearly destroyed him before.  He was asking questions he shouldn't ask.  Duffy was stirring up trouble…. I just wanted it all to end.  Let them kill each other—either way, we'd've been left alone."

He let out a short, sharp sound.  "Ruthless way to go about it."

She looked at him.  "And how far would you go to protect someone you loved?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment.  "But Morgan was already dead."

"Yeah."  He felt her shrink, although her tone was even.  "He was."

She wouldn't welcome the conventional response.  And he didn't care about Morgan, except as it affected Doyle.  "So you decided Duffy should be the loser."  He saw her shrug.  Her face was turned towards the side window again.  "You killed him because he'd—"

Her head swung around.  "I killed him because Morgan would have wanted Doyle to live.  Got that?  It was the only thing left I could do for him.  It was all you bastards had left me."

Her words sliced through him, straight to his core.  He understood the motive—not vengeance, but honour.  "Doyle's life for Morgan's."

"Yes."  And there was a bitter undertone in her voice that he also understood.  He knew Doyle had been close to Morgan.  They'd met when they both were coppers. Bodie hadn't wanted to know the details.

"What are you going to do now, Sylvie?"

"I don't know. The Club is out, that's for damn sure."

She could have run.  She'd brought Doyle to them—her warning had paid for that.  After Doyle had killed Glover, she could have left—should have left.  But she'd stayed.  Maybe she'd wanted to see how it played out.  Maybe she'd thought about Morgan.  In the end, she saved Doyle.  _He had me dead to rights.  All I could do was turn to face him.  He knew it, and I knew it._   Sylvie had saved more than Doyle.  _What would you do to protect someone you love?_   "What do you think of Paris?"

"What?"

"I know someone.  He runs a club—an exclusive club—in Paris.  He'd take you on."

"At your say so."

"He owes me."  He knew she wanted to say no; he saw the tension in the way her hands gripped each other.  "It's on the up-and-up.  It's a better club than the one you were at."

"Why?"

It was a fair question.  He flipped on the headlamps.  Twilight had crept past them as they'd talked.  "I told you.  He's my partner."

She said nothing to that.  Cars sped past them, driven by people with destinations that mattered.  "Can I go tonight?"

"Yes.  I just need to make a phone call."

"Make it at the airport."

"What about your flat?"

"Leave it all for the squatters.  I want a fresh start.  Free of memories."

"You can't—"  But he stopped the words. She would have to find out for herself that memories could only be absorbed, not denied.

"Am I under surveillance, is that it?  Your Cowley—"

"No.  You're free to go."   He took the next turning that would take them in the right direction.

"Free."  She laughed, and it was a harsh sound.

They said nothing more to one another until they reached the airport.  Bodie made his phone call while Sylvie bought a ticket.  He met her as she left the counter.  "One way?"

She nodded.  To the casual observer she would have appeared calm, collected—a beautiful woman on a jaunt to the continent.  But Bodie saw the strain in her face, and the shadows in her eyes. 

"It's all set."  He handed her a slip of paper.  "Take a taxi to that place when you arrive.  Neal will take it from there."  He saw the doubt in her, but knew it didn't matter.  It was enough that she was doing _something_.  She didn't care as much about the end result.  On an impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.  "It will be all right."

"How would you know? Would it be for you?"

He couldn't hold her gaze.  If Doyle had died...it might have been him on the plane to Paris.  His stomach was tight as he nodded at her.  "Good luck, Sylvie."

Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her head.  For the first time, he thought, she really looked at him.  "And to you.  I think you're going to need it."  She turned away and walked away.

He watched until she disappeared into the crowd, then he returned to the car.  He had a destination.  Doyle was waiting for him at home.


	31. Coda to Servant of Two Masters

Doyle wanted to send an unobtrusive signal to Bodie, but for once the stupid sod wasn't looking at him. Not one glance was sent his way after Bodie got to the bar.  So Doyle sat back and waited for the inevitable to happen.  The pub was crowded, and Bodie was nearly back to the table before he saw Cowley.  Doyle, with deep appreciation, saw Bodie falter, straighten his shoulders, and pin a smile on his face—all in a quick sequence that few people would have detected.  Doyle suspected Cowley was one of the few.

"Here you go, mate," Bodie said, as he placed a half pint in front of Doyle.  He placed the other beer glass on the table next to Doyle, and turned to Cowley.  "What will you have, sir?"

"Well, I had intended to stand you two a drink. But as you are buying, I'll have a scotch.  A double."  Cowley smiled.  "Thank you, Bodie."

Doyle grinned when Bodie looked at him.  "You jumped the gun, mate."  He picked up his glass.  "Ta."

"Ingrate."  Bodie turned and trudged back to the bar.

Doyle hid a smile in his beer.  Cowley had invited them to the pub, but Bodie had insisted on getting a drink in before the old man arrived.  "What happened with Otto Hahn and his wife?"

"They have left the country as scheduled."

"Free to find a new supplier."

"Indeed. Possibly a legitimate one."

"Possibly us?"

Cowley shrugged.  "That is not our concern.  The government was interested in stopping the leak of funds and materials.  Cole's operation was small, but it was causing a great deal of damage."

Doyle looked down at his glass before raising it.  "Yeah."

"Qualms, Doyle?"

Doyle took a sip.  "Disappointment."  He set the glass down.

"Ah. Yes."

Bodie arrived back at the table with the scotch, and slid into the seat next to Doyle.  "Here you are, sir."  He lifted his his own glass.  "Cheers."

Cowley raised his eyebrows.  'He doesn't appear to share your disappointment, Doyle."

"Oh, he's shocked on the inside, sir."  Under the table,  Doyle bumped Bodie's leg.

"Eh?"  Bodie's expression was blank, but Doyle felt him tense when he pressed his leg fully against Bodie's.

"Indeed."  Cowley picked up his scotch.  "He hides it well."

"He is good a poker."  Doyle shifted away from Bodie, and allowed himself a smirk.

"Undoubtedly.  What is your take on Cole, Bodie?"

Bodie cleared his throat.  "Brilliant scheme—until he got greedy."  This time it was Bodie nudging Doyle's leg.

Doyle looked at him.  "He was selling secrets."

"No, he wasn't."

"PS2."

"Doesn't exist.  And anyway, he was selling the product, not the formula."

"Semantics."

"But a line, nevertheless."  Bodie stretched, shifting in his seat.

"A very thin line."  One of Bodie's hand was under the table.  Doyle twitched when Bodie's arm moved, although there was no contact. The sod.

"If you two are quite finished?"

"Yes, sir."  Doyle tried to kick Bodie, but the angle was wrong.  Bodie just smiled.

"Cole had his own priorities," Cowley said.  "And that was the danger.  Once he started down that path, he could no longer be trusted in his job."

Bodie took in a breath as if to speak, but he stayed silent.  Doyle glanced at him before answering Cowley.  "You knew it had to be someone on the inside."

"Yes."  Cowley's gaze lingered for a moment on Bodie, then shifted to Doyle.  "Hence my scheme—and the ministerial sanction."

"But that's not why you're grateful to us."  There was an edge to Bodie's voice that Doyle didn't understand.

Cowley smiled and sipped his scotch.  "Am I grateful to you?"

"We did get you out of that cellar," Doyle said.

"Didn't Plumb order you to bring me in?"

"Yes, but—"

Bodie overrode Doyle's objection.  "We followed orders."

"Whereas I ordered you to watch Malik."

Bodie's hand covered Doyle's thigh.  "We ordered our priorities—as you might say."

"Indeed?"

Doyle looked from one to the other.  "Look, we covered Malik—we were careful."

"Aye.  Caught between loyalties, weren't you?"

"Fortunately, you didn't hire us because we follow orders blindly.  Sir."  Bodie's eyes were on Cowley.

"A fair point."  Cowley looked down at his glass, then back at Bodie.  "To a point."

Doyle stared at Cowley.  "Bodie's right—you are grateful to us.  We exposed _Plumb_."

"Ambition can become as dangerous a priority as money."

"Or—"  Doyle stopped as Bodie's hand slid up his thigh.

"Any priority can become dangerous."  Bodie's tone was cool.  "Even the job doesn't come first in all circumstances."

"A case for judgement, then."  Cowley drank more of his scotch.  "Caution, however, plays a role."

"As does trust."

"Which can be misplaced—as we saw today."

"But not always."  Bodie moved his hand from Doyle's leg.

Cowley looked at them both.  "No.  Not always."  He drank the rest of his scotch.  "By the way, that was a neat demonstration of teamwork when you disarmed Plumb."

Bodie smiled.  "Thank you, sir."

"Although it doesn't make up for your carelessness in being caught."

"No, sir."

"Therefore, I have a little task for you two.  You are not to delegate it."

Doyle kept his face straight.  "No, sir."

Cowley pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.  "You will go this shop and retrieve a certain item for me.  The car pool has instructions to supply you with an appropriate vehicle."

Doyle took the piece of paper from Cowley, glancing at the address.  "And when...?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Doyle looked up. "But—"

"It's our day off, sir."

"Is it?"  Cowley stood.  "Now, Malik took yesterday's flight on Concorde, did he not?  Therefore, today would have been your day off."  Cowley smiled.  "Thank you for the scotch.  Good night, gentlemen."  He turned and made his way through the crowd.

"The crafty, wily, old bugger."  Bodie sounded more admiring than disgruntled.

Doyle turned on him.  "What was all that about?"

Bodie took a long swallow of beer from his glass.  "All what?"

"You know very well what.  What were you and Cowley on about?"

"Nothing.  You heard it."

"No, there was something between you two."

"Would I keep anything from you?"

"Yes, you would, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah well, not—"  He broke off, looked away for a moment, then back at Doyle.  He sighed.  "You remember that run with the fake Hanish?"

"Yeah."

"I tracked down Cowley, after I got Charlie to hospital.  Asked him for help."

Doyle tilted his head as he studied Bodie.  "Did you?"

"Yeah.  Cowley seemed to think it was because...."  Bodie trailed off.

"I was on my own?"

Bodie's gaze was on the dregs of his beer.  "Yes."

"Was it?"

Bodie lifted his eyes to meet his, and Doyle felt something hit him in the gut, even though he was expecting that look.

"You won't get an argument from me," Doyle said steadily.

An expression flitted across Bodie's face—too quickly to fully decipher, but it left Doyle with an ache inside.  "Yeah.”

Doyle took in a deep breath.  "What did Cowley say, then?"

Bodie shrugged.  "That we have a certain...latitude, he called it.  But the job comes first.  His orders come first."

"I see."  He looked up as a barmaid appeared, placing two fresh beers on their table.

"Old gent," she said, and was gone before either of them could respond.

"We've been over this ground before."  Doyle kept his eyes on Bodie.

"It doesn't get any easier."  And for once, Bodie's face was open to him—the habitual barriers gone.

"No.  But it's worth it."  After a moment, he picked up his glass, and gestured towards Bodie's beer.  "Go on, then.  It's rare enough."

Bodie nodded.  "Yeah.  Generous of the old man."  He lifted his glass.

"Especially given that you groped me in public."  He grinned when Bodie choked.

"I did not!"

"Felt like one."

"I can't be held accountable for your active imagination."

"Oh?  Pity."

Bodie smiled.  "Feeling randy, are you?"

"Could be."

"Shall we go home?"

"Not going to follow through here, then?"  Doyle shook his head.  "I knew it was a bluff."

"Oh, is that what you're after?"  Bodie's hand made a darting movement towards Doyle's groin.

Doyle blocked the move. "Gerroff."

"Make up your mind, Raymond."  Bodie sat back in his seat with an insufferable smile.

"You'll spill my beer.  It's not every day Cowley pays."

"You've got the next round."

Doyle slid a look Bodie's way.  "There won't be a next round."  He smiled as Bodie squirmed.

"For fuck's sake, Doyle," Bodie said under his breath.  He looked around.

Doyle drank his beer.

"Sod.  I'll get it out of you one way or the other."

"Did I ask you for a beer earlier?  No, that was all your doing."

"Yeah, and thanks for the warning me about Cowley, by the way."

"Your attention was on the barmaid."

"Well, you can see why.  Anyway, I was thirsty."

"Gluttony will be your undoing."

"I'd rather it was lust."

"That can be arranged."

"As long as we're undone together."  Bodie winked.

"Of course."  But he looked away, hearing an echo of something from weeks ago.

"What is it?"  Bodie spoke in quiet voice.

Doyle looked at him.  How far they'd come—finally to a place where Bodie could read him as well off the job as on.  To a place where Bodie would ask him what was wrong, and Doyle would tell him; a place where Bodie would give him the truth.  A certain latitude, Bodie had said—but he doubted Cowley understood just how dangerously deep it was going with them.  _As long as we're undone together._   "You were right."

"Oh, well, of course."  His tone was light, but Bodie's eyes were serious.  "About what?"

"Barry Martin, Meredith, Cole—Cowley can't afford to trust anyone fully."

"No."

"What cost ambition, eh?  Plumb found out.  Cowley...."

Bodie shook his head.  "He found a match for his ambition and his priorities."

"Is that what it takes?"

Bodie held his gaze.  "Yes."  He looked away.  "Maybe not always."

" _My_ priorities—"

"Don't."  Bodie's voice was sharp, and he moved, then stilled.  Doyle knew that if they hadn't been in the pub, Bodie would have put his fingers on Doyle's mouth.

"I told you—at the target range.  I'm not giving up this trust."

Very slowly, Bodie smiled.  "Or the responsibility, eh?"

"That's right.  And it's a two-way street, mate."

Bodie raised his glass.  "Well, that's as it should be."


	32. Coda to The Acorn Syndrome

Doyle managed to get his key out of the lock without crushing the croissants or dropping the newspaper, but it was a near-run thing.  "You should oil your bloody lock!"  He'd left Bodie sleeping when he'd gone out for a run in the early morning, but he doubted Bodie would have slept through the opening of his flat door.

"It just takes a little dexterity."  Bodie appeared from the kitchen area, dressed in a white bathrobe.  His hair looked damp.

"You'd better have left me some hot water."

Bodie slid his hands into the pockets of his robe as he surveyed Doyle.  "How many birds have you picked up while out running in that outfit?"

Doyle grinned.  "A few."

Bodie shook his head.  "Exhibitionist."

"I prefer uninhibited.  Here."  Doyle tossed the bag of croissants towards Bodie.  His smile grew at Bodie's inelegant grab for the bag.  "Don't crush it."

"Berk."  Bodie peered into the bag.  "Ah, lovely."

"Don't say I don't bring you anything." Doyle strolled forward.

"What else have you got, then?"

Doyle presented him with the newspaper.  Bodie leaned in and took a kiss.  "Greedy," Doyle said, when he could.

"Prudent."

"How so?"

"It was either that or take you back to bed right now."

"Too exhausted?"  Doyle patted the robe over Bodie's groin.

"Too hungry."  Bodie kissed him again and released him.  "Bacon and eggs will be ready when you've had your shower."

Doyle handed him the newspaper.  "Tomatoes?"

"Of course.  And beans."

"Mushrooms?"

"If you insist."

"I do."

"You would."  Bodie pushed him towards the bathroom.  "Go."

Doyle went.  The shower stayed hot long enough for soap and shampoo to do their jobs.  He lifted his face to the water, enjoying the cascade of heat.  The run had been good, even with a slight drizzle.  He'd fallen into a steady rhythm, not pushing the pace at all, his body on automatic.  It was at times like this, when they'd beaten the odds, that he usually felt most satisfied with his job.  The tank plans were safe; Sandy Copeland was safe.  The kidnappers would never have allowed Sandy to live, even if Copeland had got the plans to them unnoticed.  As it was, they'd nearly been too late to save her.  He turned the water off with a jerk.

It was only by luck that they had stumbled onto the case in the first place.  Cowley, it seemed, had taken that into account—they'd heard no more about the lost desk.  Doyle stepped out of the shower and towelled dry.  He wished they were in Bodie's old flat.  That one had boasted an unusually large shower, with room enough....  He sighed, finished drying, and headed for the bedroom and his clothes.  The smell of fried bacon filled the flat, and he followed his nose to the kitchen.  A plate loaded with food, and a cup of coffee waited for him on the table.

"Good timing," Doyle said as he sat at the table.

"My timing is impeccable—as you know."  Bodie was immersed in the paper, his breakfast already half gone.

"Hmm."  Doyle took a cautious sip of coffee.  "Last night—"

"Was intentional."

"Oh yes?"

Bodie lowered the paper enough to eye him.  "Yes."

"Lovely technique."

"Are you complaining?"

Doyle grinned.  "No."

"Then I shan't mention the shouts of—"

"Good idea. Why don't you finish your breakfast?"

Bodie disappeared again behind the newspaper.  Doyle reached across and filched a section of the paper for himself—eliciting only a half-hearted grumble from Bodie.  He tucked into his own food, suddenly ravenous.  The natural effect of the run must have finally kicked in.  It had been a good morning—starting with waking up to find Bodie deeply asleep next to him.  Bodie always slept quietly, and usually lightly, but Doyle had been able to get out of bed, and dressed without waking him.  Why that had lightened his mood, he didn't know, but it had.  Then the run had worked its magic, at least for a time, and he'd made the sudden detour to purchase croissants.  A good morning, and yet....

"What?"  Bodie spoke from behind the newspaper.

"Eh?"

Bodie folded the newspaper and set it next to his cup.  "You're eating, but you're not reading.  What have you got going on in that twisty mind of yours?"

"Nervous?"

"Oh, quaking."  Bodie pushed his empty plate away, then stole one of Doyle's croissants.

"Oi!"

Bodie smiled as he bit into the bread.

"Thief."

Bodie swallowed.  "Thinking about the case?"

Doyle shrugged, and sliced his bacon.  "Happy ending."  _Nice kid.  Nice little family._

Bodie nodded, and ate more of the croissant.  "I saw your report.  Tricky shot."

Doyle looked away.  "No choice."  He didn't want to talk about it.

"You made the only choice there was.  She was damn lucky it was you."

"I could've—"

"You didn't."

Doyle met his gaze—a steady look, containing the same certainty that had been in Bodie's voice.  And the tension that had dogged him since the shooting, eased.  He sighed.  "Fuck you."   How the hell had Bodie known?

Bodie grinned.  "Any time."  He finished the croissant with a flourish looking very pleased with himself.

Doyle picked up his coffee.  "That's what Dorinda wanted as well."

"Dorinda?"

"Hmm."  Doyle nodded as he swallowed coffee.  "She knows all the horsey set.  But she doesn't ride—horses, that is."

Bodie looked at him.

"She invited me in for a beer, while I was searching for a water-splash."

"Do you mean to say, while I was being stranded, you—"

"I never knew horse delivery could be so...."

"Entertaining?"

"Dangerous."

"Ah. Poor lad—out of your depth, eh?"

"Yes.  Have you finished with that?"  He exchanged his section of newspaper for Bodie's.

"Oi.  You haven't read any of this."  Bodie waved the section at Doyle.

"That's because I wanted this one."  Doyle scanned the headlines, and started reading an article on the situation in Gdansk.

"You know Copeland's finished."  Bodie's voice was low.

Doyle glanced at him.  "Yeah.  Payment's due, isn't it?  He should have come to us straight away."

"He couldn't."

"No.  But he should have."

"Would you?"

Their eyes met.  "I trust Cowley."

"You don't."

His stomach was tight.  "It's our job."

Bodie nodded.  "Yeah.  It was Copeland's as well."   He picked up the section of newspaper that Doyle had given him.

Doyle looked again at the article in front of him, but he didn't take any of it in.  Copeland had his daughter again because of CI5.  Bodie knew that—just as he knew the odds they faced on the job. _I'll sacrifice everything else before I'll sacrifice you._   Would Bodie go to Cowley, if Doyle was being held?  He had to; they had to; there was no other choice.  It was either live by those rules or get out of CI5—and neither of them wanted that.  He took in a deep breath.  Don't borrow trouble.  They had today, this moment.  They had their shared secret.

He lowered the paper enough to look at Bodie, who was leaning over the table, one hand on his coffee cup, reading.  Bodie—so familiar, so much a part of his life.  He couldn't imagine CI5 without him.  He closed his eyes for a moment.  _Yeah, just think, in a couple of years, she could be coming home with someone like him._   Coming home with someone.  Having someone waiting at home—for him.  His pace had quickened in the last mile, eager to get back.  He'd bought the croissants for Bodie.  This was what he wanted; this moment: sharing breakfast, sharing problems, sharing risks.  Settled.  He hadn't thought it would ever happen to him—and now he wanted it.

He finished the dregs of his coffee, and stood to get some more.  "Do you—"  He stopped as he realised Bodie had tensed, frowning at something in the paper.  "What is it?"  It was as if Bodie hadn't heard him.  "Bodie?"

Bodie looked up.  "Oh."  His eyes flickered.  "Nothing.  Sorry."  He looked at the coffee cup in Doyle's hand.  "Getting a refill?"

"Yeah. You?"

Bodie handed him his cup.  "Ta."

He hesitated a moment, feeling uneasy, then turned to get the coffee.  As he was pouring, he heard movement behind him, and wasn't surprised when Bodie slipped his arms around him.  "This is hot, you know."

"Coffee can wait."  Bodie nuzzled his neck.

Doyle set the pot down.  "Hunger gone, is it?"

Bodie's hands slipped under Doyle's shirt.  "Oh, no."

Doyle smiled, and leaned back against him.  If it was anything—anything important—Bodie would tell him.  He was certain of it.


	33. Coda to Wild Justice

  
_Bodie:  What d'you reckon?  
Doyle: I reckon he might have done  
Bodie: Yeah_

 

It was nearly dawn before Bodie heard the approach of a motorcycle.  There had been cars, but no bikes for the past two hours.  He had begun to wonder if Doyle would return at all that night.  After a guarded interview with both Ross and Cowley, followed by an unpleasant talk alone with Cowley, all he'd wanted was to find Doyle and go to bed.  Instead, he'd found an empty flat and the bike missing from Doyle's lock-up.  Perhaps he should have expected it.

 _You blew it again!_   Now that it was truly in the past, Bodie couldn't help but smile at the memory of Doyle's boiling frustration.  It was a wonder Doyle hadn't killed him.  They hadn't made the cut for the job; they hadn't been the top team; they hadn't even cracked the top five.  Lucas and McCabe would be unbearable until they were taken down a notch or two.  It would happen, but first he had to settle with Doyle.

 _It's not for you, you know._   Doyle might have been furious, he might have been fed up, but he'd made damn certain the bike would do its job.  A sliver of warmth coiled through him.  He'd pushed Doyle right to the edge, but Doyle hadn't broken.  And Doyle had come back to the fight, although Bodie had done his best to keep him out of it.  That's where there would be hell to pay.  He'd shut Doyle out—he'd had to, until he'd dealt with Keith's murderers.  Doyle might understand, but he wouldn't like it, and he wouldn't accept it gracefully.

His stomach tightened as he watched the motorcycle turn into the alley behind Doyle's flat.  He knew where Doyle had been.  He remembered the ride they'd taken together after Mickey Hamilton had died.  He pushed himself away from the wall and went to meet Doyle at his lock-up.  Doyle switched off the engine, and took off his helmet.

"Good ride?"  Bodie put his hands into his jacket pockets.

"I've had better."  Doyle surveyed him.  "You still employed?"

"Yeah.  Mind you, I have to meet with Ross again.  Tests, she said."

"To determine if you have a brain?"

Bodie smiled.  "Could be.  She didn't say."

"Yeah, well."  Doyle climbed off the bike.  "We already know the result, don't we?"  He pushed the bike towards the lock-up.

Bodie followed him.  "I know I should have told you about Keith."

Doyle glanced at him, but said nothing as he parked the bike and stored his helmet.

"I wanted to keep you out of it.  I wanted—"

"Bollocks."  Doyle walked towards the door.  "You didn't want me to stop you."

"No, I—  Well, yes, but—"  Bodie broke off, and frowned.  "You're limping."

"And I would have stopped you."

Bodie followed Doyle out of the lock-up.  "Why are you limping?"

"I fell."  Doyle turned towards him, the light from a lamp crossing his face.  "Thanks for the concern, mate.  It was noticeably lacking when you sent me out in that race."

"You could have handled that race in your sleep.  What do you mean you fell?"

Doyle widened his eyes.  "The bike slid," he said very slowly.  "I fell."  He turned towards the lock-up door

"Careless of you."

Doyle gave him a look, then closed the door.  "What are you doing here, Bodie?"

"I—" He stopped himself, and folded his arms.  "You know why."

"You've made yourself scarce the last few weeks."

"I had to."

"So you could keep me out of it."

"It wasn't your—"

"Concern?"  Doyle's smile was tight.

"Responsibility, I was going to say."

"It wasn't that long ago we were talking about responsibility and trust.  You said it was a two-way street."

Bodie closed his eyes briefly.  "All right.  I get it.  But you know damn well this wasn't about trust."

Doyle looked at him.  "Maybe not to you."   After a moment, he shook his head.  "Just leave it for now, all right?  Clear off.  We'll talk later."  He moved past Bodie.

Bodie grabbed his arm.  "Dammit, listen to me.  I owed it to Keith.  I served with him.  I couldn't just let him—"  He broke off, swallowed, and lowered his voice.  "They were going to get away with it.  The case was as good as closed."

"So you go to Cowley—you come to me.  You don't go off alone—  What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"I wanted to keep you clear of it, just like that time I went after Forrester."

"Oh no."  Doyle narrowed his eyes.  "You didn't go after Forrester to kill him."  He broke free of Bodie's hold.  "This was like Brennan, mate.   But we're in London, not Angola."

Bodie felt himself go cold.  "You know what I am."

Doyle lifted his head, and his expression changed.  "No.  You didn't kill him."

"I would have."

"Maybe.  But Cowley gave you another option, didn't he?"

"A gun to your head will do that."

Doyle's smile was sharp.  "That never stopped you.  It was Cheryl agreeing to testify."

Bodie breathed in.  "She wouldn't have, if she hadn't been in that wood."

"That's not the point.  You've changed, Bodie.  What would you have done in Angola, eh?   You would've gone straight in and killed King Billy.  You wouldn't have faffed around with the bikes, you wouldn't have drawn Billy into a fight.  You wouldn't have taken such a fucking long time to decide what to do, either."

Bodie stared at him, and felt the knot in his stomach ease.  "You're not angry at me for going after Billy."

"Oh, I am.  But it's not what you think.  I told you before I understand revenge."

"With Miller as your example—and you took him in to justice."

"And where is King Billy tonight?  You didn't kill him."

Bodie rubbed his face with his hand.  "Then what in bloody hell are we arguing about?"

"Nothing."  Doyle's voice was flat.  "It's late.  Go home."

"You can't think I didn't trust you!  You know better than that.  But Keith was my responsibility, I had to—"

"Yeah, you owed him.  Loyalty—when it suits you."  Doyle brushed past him, and Bodie grabbed his arm again, swinging him around.

"Dammit, Doyle—"  He cut off the words, seeing Doyle wince as he regained his balance.  "Sod it, you _are_ injured.  Where?"

"Back off."  Doyle pushed him away.  "I'm bruised, that's all.  it's been a fucking long day."

And suddenly he had a visceral memory of his own contribution to Doyle's bruises.  It made his voice rough.  "You shouldn't have gone out."

"There's a lot I shouldn't have done."

"At least you're not on duty tomorrow."

"Duty! That's rich, coming from you."

Bodie straightened.  "What do you mean?"

"You're the one who's been talking to me all this time—all these bloody weeks—about putting the job first.  Well, you were set to throw it all away, sunshine—Cowley, the job, everything."

"No! I had it handled.  I wasn't—"

"What in bloody hell did you think was going to happen if you killed Billy in that fight?  Were you going to kill all of them?  Did you reckon they'd scatter and no one would talk—like with Williams?  Do you really think Cowley wouldn't have found out?  For God's sake, I was there, Sally was there!  Who do you think it all would have pointed to?"

"It was a fight!  All of them against me?  I'd've got away with it—”

"You baited them.  It's Cowley's worst nightmare, isn't it?  CI5 agent run amok.  If you'd survived it, and killed Billy, you'd've been out of CI5 at best—in prison at worst.  Cowley said it himself."

"Sod it, that's why I had to keep you out of it!"

Doyle stilled.  "Yeah.  You'd thought it all out, hadn't you?  What was it you said when Willis was after you?  You weren't going to let them have us both."

"Exactly!"  He gripped Doyle's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his fingers.  "One of us was—"

"Only that time, there really was a conspiracy.  This time— _this_ —was all you.  Your choice."

Bodie tightened his hold.  "I owed—"

"You owed _me_."  Doyle's voice was quiet, his gaze steady.

It felt like he couldn't draw a breath.  Doyle had asked him what was wrong, and Bodie hadn't been able to tell him—hadn't wanted to tell him.  Justice for Keith had been his responsibility.  It was why it'd taken him so long to decide what to do—he'd had to find a way to act that would satisfy conflicting loyalties.  Balance, Shusai had once told him, was crucial. Only he was tumbling now—in free fall, right off the tightrope.  He released Doyle's shoulder.  "Okay.  I should have talked to you.  I will, if there's a next time.  I'll try—"  The words caught in his throat.

"To change?"  Doyle's smile was fleeting.  "Death knell of any relationship."  Doyle looked up at the dark sky, biting his lip as he closed his eyes for a moment.  "This is more fundamental than that.  You were ready to sacrifice the partnership."  His eyes met Bodie's once again.  "That comes first.  We said that all along.  Right from the start."

"We haven't lost that."  His own voice was low, his throat tight.  "I knew you were there in the woods."

"When you hit me?"

"For fuck's sake—Ray."  He wanted to grab him, but he held himself still.  He'd rarely seen Doyle's expression so guarded and remote—certainly not when facing him.

"All I know is that Cowley saved your life, your career, and our partnership.  You didn't.  I didn't."  The bleakness in Doyle's voice sliced into him like a blade.

"It wasn't just Cowley's gun, or Cheryl agreeing to testify that made me stop.  It was you being there."

Doyle nodded, but his expression didn't change.  "I wish I knew if that was true."

This time, when Doyle walked past him, Bodie didn't stop him.  He stood in the alley long after Doyle had disappeared into his block.


	34. Coda to Fugitive

"You'll do."  Bodie winced as the on-call doctor slapped him on the shoulder.  "Sorry."  The doctor re-packed his bag.  "No need to go to hospital.  Did you tense up when they hit you?"

Bodie looked at him.  "I might have done."  He picked up his shirt.

"Ah.  Yes, not surprising."  He closed his bag.  "Take a couple of paracetamol for the soreness, then.  Good-bye."  He headed for the door.

"What's your rush?"

The doctor paused at the door.  "I was on a date when the call came."

"Beautiful nurse?"

For the first time, the doctor smiled.  "Beautiful doctor."   He opened the door, then closed it behind him..

"Cheers."  Bodie finished dressing and left the office they'd commandeered for the examination. There was no one waiting for him in the corridor, so he headed for the rest room. Cowley had wanted him on the premises in case he was needed with Karen's interrogation, but it seemed unlikely he would be.  All he really knew about her was that she enjoyed killing—which was already obvious—and that she'd hated Christina.

Cowley had held Christina as she'd died.  Somehow, she'd got under Cowley's skin, despite her past.  Doyle, too, had spoken about her poise with admiration.  Bodie wondered if it wasn't more likely weariness—resignation.  She'd lost her son, her lover, and her cause.  Maybe she hadn't cared a great deal what happened to her.

He made his way carefully up the stairs.  A deep ache had already set in, and the bruises would be spectacular by tomorrow.  _Maniac!  You maniac!_   Dreisinger had pushed the button—just as he'd shot a man for leaving his flat.  No one but Karen would miss him.  _Maniac!_   Bodie was alive because Doyle had saved him.

_All I know is that Cowley saved your life, your career, and our partnership.  You didn't.  I didn't._

But Doyle had done it today, at considerable risk to himself.  It was odd to feel such a mix of gratitude and anger.  The risk was unacceptable—the explosives would have killed them both.  And yet....  Bodie took in a deep breath, and even the ache of sore and abused muscles was welcome.  He remembered the desperate grip of Doyle's hands as he'd tackled him.  There might be hope after all.

There were several agents in the rest room, most of them stood down from the op.  He received a few smiles as he entered the room—proof that word had got around about his day.  But his eyes went first to Doyle, sitting in a battered stuffed chair, reading a newspaper.  Doyle never looked up, but when Bodie approached him, Doyle handed him a cuppa.

"Ta."  He leaned against Doyle's chair and looked around the room.  Julie, Anson, McCabe, Lewis, and Murphy were carrying on with the floating poker game.  Only Jax knew who, exactly, owed money to whom.  Cook was making tea, while Pettigrew appeared to be searching for biscuits.  "Where's Lucas?"

"He's breaking the news to Jack's wife."  Doyle's voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the newspaper.

"Damn."  He'd hoped Jack would pull through.

"Did you collect your wreath, Bodie?"  McCabe asked.

"Wreath?"

"It came with Dreisinger's demands," Julie said.  "Lilies.  In memoriam."

Bodie smiled.  "Ah, well, nice to be remembered."

"And from what I hear, there wouldn't have been anything left of you but memories."  Julie put her hand down.  "Fold."

"But he would have gone out in a blaze of...nothing," Anson said.

Lewis glanced at Anson.  "I haven't heard that part.  A bomb?  I'm in."

"Explosives," Anson said.  "And it's your call, Mac."

"I'm thinking."

"God help us."  Anson looked at Lewis.  "Fifteen pounds, strapped around him, set to go off on a radio frequency."

"Nasty."

"Fortunately, none of us carried enough of a grudge to set it off."  Julie sent a look Bodie's way.

He smiled.  "Thank you.  Anyway, Doyle took care of it."

"After dropping you in it."  Murphy said.  "Hurry up Mac."

"Call."  Mac sighed.  "I'll probably regret that."

"Call," Anson said.

 _You know what happened to the man you shot?_   Bodie glanced down at Doyle, who was setting his cup down on the table.  "Couldn't have played dead a little longer, could you?"

"It was muddy."  Doyle brushed at a small spill on his shirt.  "Damn."

"Lesson to us all," Murphy said, his voice even.  He showed his hand.  "Three of a kind."

Lewis put his cards down in a neat pile.  Anson threw his onto the table and sent Murphy a disgusted look.  "Never saw Doyle run so fast before."

"As well he might.  What have you got, Mac?"  Murphy looked at him.

McCabe smiled and put his cards on the table.  "Flush."

There were groans at the table.  Bodie straightened as Doyle stood up, leaving his paper on the chair.  He carried his cup to the sink, then turned and headed for the door.

"June's expecting you Sunday, Ray.  Right?"  Cook was pouring his own cup of tea.

Doyle stopped.  "Yeah."  His eyes met Bodie's.  "You coming?"

"Yes."  Bodie set his cup down and followed Doyle.  The partnership was working—the op had proven that.  They'd gone back to the fundamentals, the basis of everything between them.  _You were ready to sacrifice the partnership._   He'd thought he'd been so fucking clever—juggling loyalties, finding a way to act.  It had nearly cost him Doyle.  And now he had no idea what Doyle wanted off the job—if they had a chance to rebuild that as well.  He just knew he wanted the ache inside him to ease.  Doyle was moving quickly through the building, so Bodie trailed him down the stairs to the underground car park.  He saw Doyle's car in the distance, as they rounded a pillar, but not his own.  "Oi, is my car—"  His words were cut off as Doyle grabbed him and pushed him against the pillar.

"You're lucky you have a car."  Doyle's voice was hard.

"Yeah, I am."  He stood still under the pressure of Doyle's hands.

"You ran."  There was fury in Doyle's tone, although it was suppressed.

"Had to."

Something twisted in Doyle's face, revealed in the dim light of the car park.  Bodie reached for him, his body protesting as Doyle's hands pushed against his chest.  But then Doyle's resistance collapsed, and Bodie took his mouth, and felt Doyle's urgency.  He knew what it was—a sort of fierce despair.  He knew all about the anger and the fear; the helplessness that Doyle had felt.  _You know what happened to the man you shot?_   With those few words, Dreisinger had shown him the abyss, and hadn't even known it.  _He got up and walked away._   As he and Doyle had walked away from a bomb that would have killed them both.  _Maniac!  You maniac!_   He wasn't the only one.

He'd never been more afraid than when he'd turned and saw Doyle racing towards him—not when Crabbe had had Doyle; not when Preston had caught him.  This time, if Doyle had died, it would have been Bodie who'd killed him.  He'd followed procedure, got himself away from the others.  Doyle had followed.  Doyle had run him down.  He wanted to shout at Doyle; he wanted to hold him and not let go.  He wanted what they'd had—before the last weeks, before Keith.  He wanted Sunday morning with Doyle, reading the paper, expecting to be there.  He wanted—

The heavy slam of a metal door reverberated through the car park, and they pulled away from each other.  Bodie's heart was beating fast—part adrenaline, part arousal part relief.

"Come home with me."  Doyle looked tense, as if he were still on an op.

"Yeah."  He pushed away from the pillar.  "Always."  He didn't understand the expression on Doyle's face.  "Are you all right?'

"No."  Doyle closed his eyes.  "I was supposed to be dead.  Cowley wouldn't let me out—"

"You wouldn't have found me."

Doyle opened his eyes.  "It was my fault."

"No."

"Malone and his boys—they never would have found all—"

"Ray.  I'm here.  You're here.  Let's go home, eh?"  He pressed his fist lightly against Doyle's shoulder.

"Together."  Doyle's vice was odd.

"Yeah.  Like always."

Abruptly, Doyle turned and walked towards his car.  Bodie followed.  It was worth the bruises, worth the pain—even to Doyle—if it brought them back together.  Doyle had saved the partnership.  Now it was Bodie's turn to show him they could have it all again.


	35. Coda to Involvement

"You just can't keep your women, can you?"   There was no mockery in Bodie's voice, and his arm was warm across Doyle's shoulders.  But Doyle shrugged him off, not wanting the comfort, the humour, or the shared memory.  He walked away.

"Ray."

Doyle stopped, and he closed his eyes for a moment.  It wasn't Bodie's fault that he'd been right.  _I was foolish enough to think you could change._   The death knell of any relationship.  He turned round.

Bodie walked up behind him.  "I'm sorry, mate."

Doyle sighed.  "You're not."  He turned again to walk with Bodie.  "But it doesn't matter."  He put his arm around him.

They moved forward, and there was a pause before Bodie spoke again.  "Do you want to—"  He broke off, as if he'd changed his mind about what he wanted to say.  "Go home?  Get the bike?"

He didn't want to go for a ride.  There was nothing to think about, nothing to find that he didn't already know.  He stopped, looked up at the sky, and his arm slipped from Bodie.  All he had was his work.  _You volunteered, because you wanted it._   "No.  Come on."  He turned back towards the entrance to HQ.

"Cowley's not going to want you in on the rest of the interrogation of Holly."

Doyle bit his lip.  "Maybe not."  He glanced at Bodie.  "But there's more than that to be done."  He headed into the building.  Bodie followed behind him.

By the evening, they had everyone in the scheme in custody, including the men responsible for Benny's death.  He ought to have been satisfied with that, but all he felt was hollow.  Benny was dead.  It was only by chance they'd stumbled upon the operation.  They'd followed Conroy because Cowley had heard a rumour.   Would they ever have connected him to Benny's death, and to Holly, without Ann's involvement?  None of it would have happened if she hadn't been home; if he hadn't gone back to see her; if Bodie hadn't—  _Who's in the best position to ferret?_

"Heading home?"  And there was Bodie at his shoulder.

Doyle pushed open the stairwell door.  "Cowley's finished with you?"

"Yeah, everything's tidy."  Bodie descended the stairs with him.  "It's out of our hands now."

"Except for the testimony."

"As usual."

"Ann's out of it?"  _I thought you trusted me and loved me._   His stomach twisted.

"Yes."  Bodie's voice was subdued.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and before them was the heavy steel door leading to the underground car park.  "Come home with me."  He'd said it before, only two weeks ago.  He didn't look at Bodie.

 _Yeah.  Always._  "Ray."  He heard the refusal in Bodie's tone.

"Yeah.  Tomorrow, then."  He pushed open the door and walked into the dimly lit car park.  Bodie didn't follow.  When Doyle reached his car, he kept walking.  He didn't want go home.  There were too many memories in his flat, and his bed—  _Did you bug my bedroom?_   He walked faster, moving up the ramp to the street.  The sun was sinking, casting long shadows on the people and cars hurrying home at the end of day.  Hurrying home, perhaps, to someone.  Someone who wanted them.  _I'm one thing, and—well—you're exactly what you are._   And what the fuck was that?  He'd wanted someone for him.  Someone who would be there.  Someone who didn't have a sodding bomb strapped—  He broke into a run.

 _You're exactly what you are._   The job came first.  As soon as he'd seen the photo of Conroy with Ann's father, he'd gone back to the job.  He'd wanted to prove her innocent, but he'd also wanted to follow the connection.  And dammit, there had been a moment—just a moment—when he'd wondered if he'd been set up.  The fucking job took everything, even his trust.

He ran, dodging people and cars, heading in whatever direction was open at the time.  He'd known her little more than a week.  It was too soon for trust; too soon for the words they'd used between them.  He'd told Bodie he might marry her, and he'd meant it—meant for Bodie to hear it as well.  Because she wasn't part of the job.  She didn't want anything to do with job.  And she was there when he woke up in the morning.

He rounded a corner and crashed into a cyclist coming in the opposite direction.  They both tumbled to the ground.  He rolled automatically, got his feet beneath him, and stood up.  The cyclist struggled out from under his bike.  Doyle grabbed the bike and reached a hand towards the man.  "Are you all right?"

"You prat!  What the hell do you think you were doing?"  The man was of medium build and height, with brown hair.  His suit was torn.

"Yeah, sorry about that."  Doyle pushed the bike towards him.  "Here you are, then."

The man took hold of the handlebars.  "If you've damaged the bike—"

"It seems all right."

"The frame may be bent, or the fork damaged, or the wheels....  I want your name and—"

"Listen, sunshine, you were on the pavement.  You're lucky I don't run you in for reckless—"

"You crashed into me!"  The man left the bike and advanced on Doyle.  "You should have watched where you were going."

Doyle smiled.  "I wouldn't push it, if I were you."

"Oh, yeah?"  The man clenched his fists.  "Well, I—"

"Hold it."  It was Bodie's voice.

Doyle turned.  "Oh, great.  What are you—"

"CI5."  Bodie showed his ID to the cyclist.  "Thank you for stopping him.  You can go on your way now."

"What's he done, then?"  The man looked at Doyle.

"Everything."  Bodie grabbed Doyle by the shoulder.  "Come on, you."

Doyle allowed himself to be hustled back around the corner, then he pulled away from Bodie's grip.  "Spoilsport."

"Oh yeah, that' a great way to get yourself off suspension.  Brawling."

"I wasn't brawling.  Anyway, I'm not on suspension any more."

"Possibly."  Bodie tapped him on the arm.  "Down there."

Doyle turned his head and saw the Capri.  "You followed me in the car?"

"Yes, and it wasn't easy, given your complete lack of direction.  Get in."  Bodie's voice turned hard.

Doyle got into the car.  Bodie started the engine and they drove onto the street as the last of the light faded from the sky.  Doyle stayed quiet while they moved through traffic.  He was beginning to ache from the fall, and he didn't know what to say to Bodie—how to handle the conflicting signals.  He had followed Doyle, but there was anger in his posture, and his voice.  How could he read Bodie so easily, and yet be blindsided by him so often?  It had been the same that night after Bodie had nearly died, and Doyle had given into his need for him.  _Together_ , Bodie had murmured, as he'd settled to sleep, his arm heavy on Doyle's chest.  But it was only up to a point, wasn't it?  Bodie had kept his loyalty to Keith Williams to himself.  He'd run from Doyle when he had a bomb around his neck.  _I was foolish enough to think you could change._   He wasn't that much of a fool.  But he'd stayed awake that night, acknowledging the trap he was in, seeking a way out.

They passed by HQ, and Doyle turned his head to look at Bodie.  "Where are we going?"

"Cowley told me either we get on track, or we're both suspended."

Doyle froze.  "He what?"  Bodie didn't say anything, but his hands were tight on the wheel.  "Why the fuck did you bring him into—"

"You were moving too fast.  Seven days?  And you were ready to marry the—her."

"You told him about Ann."

Bodie pressed his lips together.

"Why?"

"I didn't know he'd react like that—having her checked out."  Bodie finally looked at him, and his voice softened.  "I didn't."

"So why did you—"

"It just came out, all right?  You didn't—you'd just known her a few days!"

"Sometimes, that's all it takes."

"To throw it all away?"  Bodie pushed hard on the brakes as they joined the queue for a roundabout.

"Throw what all—?"

"The job.  CI5.  Everything!"

"I didn't!"

"You resigned.  You chucked it all in, rather than look at the evidence."

"That's why she's gone, you bastard!  Because I _looked_."

"Yeah, because it was shoved in your face."  Bodie cut up a lorry as he accelerated onto the roundabout.  "For God's sake, Doyle, you knew her a week, and you resigned!"

Fury swept through him.  "This isn't about Ann.  This is about you."

"No.  It's about the fucking partnership.  The same bloody thing you said _I_ was ready to sacrifice.  Well, you made your fine, dramatic gesture, didn't you?  What do you think would have happened if you had married her?"

Doyle sucked in a breath.  "Other agents are married.  Jax, Cook—"

"Yeah, and see how well that's working for them.  You want to play Happy Families in suburbia, mate, you don't belong in CI5—and you bloody well know it."  Bodie braked at another roundabout.  "You tried to dissuade Cook when he came asking you about the job."

"All right. Yeah, but—"

"So what was this about, eh?  Why the rush?"

"It wasn't a rush.  I mean, we knew—right away.  We clicked."

"Ah, you clicked." Bodie crossed the roundabout.  "This would be when you told me she didn't like our 'sort'?"

"Look, she changed—"

"No, _you_ changed.  You went to chat her up, but then Benny died and you were sick of the waste, weren't you?  Sick of the job.  So you went running to her and the normal life she represented.  People don't die violently in her world, do they?  No Bennys.  No bloody Coogans, when it comes to that.  Did you tell her about how you beat that—"

"Shut up."

"You wouldn't have lasted a month with her.  You—"

"She wouldn't bloody well die on me!  She wouldn't kill herself—"  He clamped his mouth shut on the words, but the sound echoed after his shout.  Dammit.  _Dammit._

There was silence in the car.  The night had fallen completely, and they'd left the brightness of Central London behind.  Doyle looked out into the dark, and his hand clenched.  "She trusted me.  I betrayed her."

He heard Bodie swallow.  "You did your job.  You're a copper at heart, Doyle.  We all know it—even Ann."

 _You're exactly what you are._  His chest felt tight.  "That's the tragedy of it."  He remembered, too well, the rage and overwhelming fear he'd felt as he'd chased after Bodie—in the woods, at the air strip.  He'd known fear before—when Bodie had gone to ground with Myer; when Bodie had been knifed.  But those were nothing compared with this.  Nothing.  "Christ, Bodie."  The words were wrenched out of him.  He could face anything if they were together, but Bodie had gone his own way.

After a long moment, Bodie said, "I ran away to save you."  The anger was gone from his voice, replaced by something too close to bewilderment.

"I know."  He couldn't chase Bodie anymore.  He couldn't do it.

Silence again, and the light from an oncoming car's headlamps swept across them.  "I can't be—"

"I wouldn't ask you to."  Doyle closed his eyes.  _You're exactly what you are._

"Ray."  And that tone from Bodie sliced right through him.

"The partnership works."  He kept his voice steady.  "The job works.  Cowley knows that."  There was no reply.  "You tell me, what we should do, Bodie.  How we can survive this."

Bodie breathed in.  "We go back to how it was.  Before it got...complicated."

Doyle caught back a laugh that hurt.  How could they go back?  But what other choice did they have?  "Yeah."  He looked at Bodie.

Bodie nodded, and drove on.  Doyle turned to stare out through the windscreen.  He didn't know where they were.   He should know.  He breathed in and out.  Bodie was his partner.  "I ran into Turner at HQ."

Bodie cleared his throat.  "A pity that wasn't literal."

"It's true he's not fond of you."  He struggled for the light tone.  "He took one look at me and said, 'Thank God.'"

"He's a twat.  He eats peanuts."

"There are worse vices.  Anson—"

"Turner likes trains."

"All right.  You have me there."  It was easier to breathe.  All he had to do was hold himself in.  Hold everything in.  Build a wall.  They passed Stamford Bridge.

"Are you taking me home?"  They were closer to Bodie's.

"Yeah."  Bodie shifted in his seat.  "Your car's at HQ.  I'll pick you up in the morning."

"Right.  Ta."  Two blokes who worked together.  Partners.  Friends.  "Are you friends with any of your...lovers?"  Was that what they had they been?

Bodie cleared his throat again.  "Yeah.  Two."

He leaned his head back against the seat.  "Who's the other one?"

"She's a teacher.  I'll introduce you sometime."

"Yeah.  Good."

"Ray."  His name was nearly a sigh.

Back to the job.  The fucking job that took everything, even his trust.  Except—  "I'll watch your back.  You'll watch mine."

"Yeah."

It was enough.  It had to be enough.  He looked out into the darkness as Bodie made the turn towards his flat.


	36. Coda to Need to Know

  
_"Bodie. So help me, Bodie, if you finish that neck lock I'll shoot you dead."_

_Bodie's face twisted.  King Billy jerked, and went limp._

_"No!"  Doyle cried out, even as the gun barked, and Bodie fell.  He saw blood and brain, and a gaping hole.  Bodie's eyes were open, but he was gone, gone—_

"No!"  Doyle jerked himself awake, nearly falling from the chair.

"Doyle!"

The shout brought Doyle to his feet, and he turned in time to see Bodie burst through the door.  "You prat! What are you doing?"  His heart was hammering as he scrambled to orient himself.

Bodie swept the room with his eyes, then straightened and holstered his gun.  "What the fuck were you yelling about?"

Dammit.  He must have fallen asleep.  Bodie had left with Cowley and Drake.  Doyle had stayed behind to liaise with Special Branch.  He rubbed his face with a hand.  "Nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing."  Bodie moved forward, still light on his feet, as if ready for action.

"Yeah, well, it was."  Doyle turned away, hiding his grimace.

"Right."  Bodie's tone was clipped.  "Are you ready to go?"

Doyle closed his eyes for a moment.  "Yeah."  He glanced around at Bodie.  "Sorry."

Bodie shrugged, but Doyle saw his posture ease. They were both being careful these days.  "Special Branch finished already?"

"Yeah."  Doyle led the way out of the house.   "They dusted for prints, but there were no papers in the house, and nothing to connect it with the Russians.  They'll look into the ownership next."

"Did anyone else come around?"

Doyle headed for the Capri, parked on the road. "MI5.  And one of Willis' lads was nosing about.  I sent them all on their way."

"Enjoyed that, did you?"  He heard the smile in Bodie's voice.

Doyle grinned, and felt himself relax.  "Possibly. What happened with Ryan?"

"Don't know.  I was dropped off before they got to town.  She was very quiet in the car."

"Drake and Cowley will talk to her, I suppose."

"Impress upon her the importance of keeping silent about what happened here.  Yeah."  Bodie opened the door to the Capri.

Doyle glanced along the road where Manton's body had been.  "Murder, you mean."  He got into the car.

"Execution."  Bodie set the car in motion.  "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

Doyle didn't say anything.  He knew the score, and Bodie knew him.

"That mob—they don't play by your rules, Doyle."

Doyle leaned his head back on the headrest.  "You told me that before."

"Yeah, well."  Bodie changed gears to overtake a Mini.  "Maybe the day you learn that is the day you should quit."  His voice was low.

Doyle blinked, disconcerted by the comment.  "Yeah, it bothers me.  But I accepted it, didn't I?  I told you we were accessories.  It just wasn't the murder we thought it would be."

"You could look at it as a kindness.  Can you imagine what it would have been like for Manton?  Unmasked?  He chose the easy way out.  He knew what Cowley would do."

"I'm surprised they didn't leave him in a locked room with a loaded gun."

"Manton didn't have any honour."

Doyle turned his head.  "Unlike Cowley."

"Yeah."

"But you don't fully trust Cowley."

"No."  Bodie glanced at him.  "We both know that honour of his is part of what makes him so dangerous."

Doyle looked out the window.  "Yeah."  The clouds had thickened while he had been at the house, and they drove into rain.  Doyle watched the progress of water along the glass.  Cowley had executed Manton.  Whatever he might have felt about shooting Manton, he'd hidden the emotion.  Would there have been the same lack of emotion if he'd killed Bodie?  Doyle's gut clenched as the vivid memory of his dream came back.  He knew what a shot in the head looked like; he could easily imagine Bodie— Christ!  It had been so damn close.  Cowley would have done it—to save CI5, save his honour, he would have executed Bodie.  And what would Doyle have done, if Cowley had fired?  Would he have stood there and thought about honour?

"Ray?"

"What?"  He spoke more sharply than he had intended.  He took in a deep breath.

"This triple think business...."

Doyle turned to look at him.  "What about it?"

"Well.  I've been thinking.  Why'd Cowley assign me to check on Ann?"  The last words were rushed, as if he wanted to get them out before he changed his mind.

"Why not?" Doyle replied carefully.  "It seems natural."

"Maybe."  He could only see Bodie's profile.  "But he had to know you'd find out.  It wasn't hard to guess what your reaction would be."

 _You. Checking up. Did you tail us? Eh? Did you bug my bedroom?_  "He had me tail you before."

"But that was to protect CI5—and me, if it turned out I was being set up.  Ann wasn't a threat."

"Any potential marriage—"

"Could be checked out by anyone.  Why me?  And why the urgency?"

"What are you getting at?  You—" He broke off, and reconsidered his words.  "You were in a good position to ferret."

"Yeah.  Maybe."

"What is it?"

"I just wonder if he was working towards more than one purpose.  Check out Ann, yeah, but....  Look, anyone who knows you knows how you'd react.  It was personal, wasn't it?  A betrayal."  He paused a moment, and didn't turn his head.  "Wasn't it?"

"You were following orders."  He kept his voice even.  He didn't want to get into blame or betrayals.

Bodie nodded.  "Yeah, that's what I thought.  The point is, Cowley knew how you'd react—just as he knew what Manton would do, given the chance."

"So what?  You think he wanted me to resign?  To defend Ann?"

"No.  He didn't know about her connection with Conroy then.  And he put you on suspension to prevent your resignation.  No, I think he wanted to check Ann out, just as he said.  But he also wanted to see how we'd react."  Bodie's hands tightened on the wheel.   "If the job came first."

Cold swept through Doyle.  "A test."

"Yeah."  Bodie's eyes narrowed as he studied the road ahead.

"We passed."

Bodie shrugged.  "That depends on your perspective."

Doyle looked away.  "You followed his orders.  I...came back."

"Yeah."  He sucked in a breath.  "We did."

"You said before—he'd give us latitude."

"He doesn't care what we do.  He—"  Bodie broke off, and Doyle glanced at him.  "He'd be discreet, as he said."  Bodie flexed his hands.  "That was another fucking reminder.  He has keys to our flats."

"I mean to ask you about that tulip."  Doyle looked at the roof, then down.  "Okay.  A reminder that CI5 comes first.  Why now?  Why—"

"Because I went after King Billy.  Because you came after me."

Doyle looked at him quickly.  "No.  I would always have gone after you.  He knows that."

"Maybe, but—"

" _Always_."

Bodie grinned.  "All right, sunshine."  His smile faded.  "But it was still a test."

"Maybe it was.  Maybe we have no one to blame for that but ourselves."

Bodie was silent, but Doyle saw the tightening along his jaw.  Doyle turned back to the window.  Honour and ruthlessness—that was Cowley.  No wonder he'd been pleased with them on this op.  _A betrayal._   Bodie knew him well, but Doyle didn't see it as a betrayal.  Not now.  At the time, though....  He'd been so angry—on Ann's behalf, on his own behalf.  It had come too soon after the break in his trust, when he'd realised just how far Bodie had gone to shut him out.  When he realised what Bodie intended to do, and what he'd risk to do it.  And he flashed again to the image of Bodie on his knees, Cowley's gun against his head.  _So help me, Bodie._   Cowley would have done it. The ruthless bastard would have done it.  It felt like Doyle couldn't fully breathe.

"I trust you."  He said it to Bodie, his voice rough-edged.  He didn't know why—maybe they both needed to hear it.  Bottom line.  Despite betrayals or wishes or anyone's bloody honour.

"I won't—"  Bodie swallowed.  "You're the only one I—"

"I know."  He wanted him.  God help him.  There was no one he wanted more.  There was no one more dangerous for him to want—or to have.  He closed his eyes.

"Ray."

And he knew, from the tone of his voice what Bodie was going to say—what he was going to ask him.  So he spoke first:  "Cowley got what he wanted.  We said it all along.  It's better—easier."

The silence seemed loud.  He stared at the cars in the other lane.  "Right.  Less...."

"Complicated."  His throat felt tight.

"Yes."  He heard Bodie shift in his seat.  "Cowley, uh, wants us to go to his flat when we get back to town."

"What for?"

"Judging by his manner, I'd say something of a quiet celebration."

They could make it a wake.  They'd passed the killing test.  Cowley would never know the truth; he'd never know the cost—or the damage done.  "Fine."  After all, they still had the job.


	37. Coda to Take Away

  
_"Where do you want to go?  Ray?"  They were outside the embassy, drugs in hand, drug dealer gone._

_"Nearest pub."_

_It was over.  Weeks of work—all that effort, all the people caught up in it, and it had come to nothing.  Annie had been right, after all.  Fuck.  Bodie glanced at the driver.  "CI5, Jack."  And on with the bloody job._

 

Bodie's flat was dark and cold when he arrived.  He shut the door, took off his jacket and holster, and didn't bother with a light.  The moonlight slanting through the window was enough.  The silence was welcome.

 

_There were too many people in the Red Lion.  Why the fuck had he chosen it?  Too many memories, as well:  Doyle walking in beside him; Doyle giving him sly glances that promised so much.  Dammit.  He hunched over his beer glass, and ignored the people around him.  He just wanted a beer.  Several beers.  He just wanted to forget how quickly Doyle had left to find Esther._

_She had been recalled to Hong Kong as soon as the case had collapsed around them.  She'd be gone by the morning.  She was a good cop; she knew her work—he'd give her that.  And she and Doyle had taken one look at each other and—_

_"This seat taken?"_

_Bodie glanced at Murphy, but he didn't say anything._

_"Good."  Murphy leaned against the bar next to him._

_Doyle would spend the night with her.  He'd had that glow about him.  He'd liked playing house—hell, he'd taken to the fruit stand like he'd been born to it.  And why the fuck did it matter?  So he'd had a bedmate.  A cosy little domestic idyll paid for by CI5.  And she'd looked at Doyle as if he were hers._

_"Where's Doyle?"_

_"Liaising with the Hong Kong police."  Bodie drank his beer._

_"Ah.  Well, nice to see him doing his part for intradepartmental relations."_

_"Absolutely."_

_"Want another?"_

_Bodie held out his glass.  "Yes."_

 

His phone rang as he crossed the room towards the window.  Bodie hesitated.  There was no one he wanted to talk to.  He needed a shower and sleep.  But he sighed and picked up the receiver.  "Yeah?"

"It's about time you got home."

"What do you want, Doyle?"

"Who says I want anything?  But, as it happens, I had a question...."

"Right.  See, your part goes in her par—"

"Shut up, Bodie."  Doyle's voice was suddenly hard.

"Yeah."  Bodie closed his eyes for a moment.  "I'm sorry.  Look, Ray, I'm tired.  I want to go to bed."

"Are you with someone?"

His hand tightened on the receiver.  "No."

 

_"I've got the gear in my flat."  Murphy looked at him.  "I can offer you something stronger than that, too."_

_"Yeah, okay."  He finished the second glass of beer.  "I'd like to see this ice axe that won't break."_

_"That's what they claim, anyway.  Most of the climbers I know are doubtful about it.  But frankly, that might be because the axe is as ugly as sin.  Penberthy's design makes sense to me.  Who cares about looks when your life depends on the tool?"  Murphy led the way out of the pub._

 

"Neither am I."

Bodie stilled.  "What about Esther?"

"She'll be on a flight to Hong Kong soon.  I took her to Heathrow."

He couldn't read Doyle's voice.  "I thought—"

"They wanted her back and, honestly, I think she wanted shot of this place.  To come so close...."

"It's the nature of the game."

"That doesn't make it any easier, does it?"  There was silence for a moment that Bodie waited through.  "She was upset.  Crying.”

"Ray."

"She wanted me to come with her.  She never asked.  But that's what she wanted."

It seemed there was an iron band wrapped around his chest.  "What did you say?"

Doyle's voice was quiet. "I told her cops don't cry.  It's in the book."  There was another pause, and Bodie counted his breaths.  "But we don't all go by the book, do we?"

 

_"Christ."  His cock was surrounded by the heat of a generous mouth.  It felt so damn good.  If he closed his eyes...but the hair was wrong. The movement of Murphy's mouth was different on him—less aggressive, less knowing.  But Murphy wanted him.  The offer had been made and accepted.  And why not? Why the fuck not?_

_Bodie thrust hard into Murphy's mouth.  He knew by the tightening of Murphy's hands, by the sounds that he made, that he wanted Bodie to shove into him—wanted the domination.  So, he needn't hold back the anger that seemed to be always with him.  Doyle was banging the bird.  And in his mind's eye he saw it:  Doyle on the brink of coming; his head back; his face transformed—  She'd see it.  She'd damn well think it was hers._

_He grunted when he came—a release of sound and semen; anger and despair.  He poured down Murphy's throat.  And his hands clenched on the wrong, fucking hair._

 

"What is it you want, Doyle?"

There was only the sound of a connected phone line.

"Where are you?"  Bodie glanced out the window.

"Home."

"Must be cold.  Do you have any food in?"

"No.  Bodie—"

He waited through another silence.  "What?"

"Do you sleep with this teacher friend of yours?"

His stomach clenched.  "Sometimes."  He could barely get the word out.

"But it's...over?"

His hand on the receiver hurt.  "Yeah."

He could hear Doyle breathing.  "I—Christ.  I need...."

"It would't be comfort."

"No.  I know."

"Or a one-night stand."

 

_He didn't know what Murphy saw in his face.  All he knew was that Murphy didn't say anything when he left._

 

"Bodie."

"Call me when you know."  He put the receiver on the cradle.  He waited in the dark, staring out the window.  Clouds rolled in on a breeze, dimming the moonlight. He turned and walked across the room, and down the hall to his bedroom.  He undressed.  He took a long, long shower—long enough for the water to lose its heat.  He towelled dry, and he went to bed. The phone didn't ring.


	38. Coda to Blackout

"Superman or not, you're going to need a lot of help for now." 

Bodie grinned and laughed as Gerda put the Superman watch on his wrist.  This was as it should be. They'd solved the riddle, saved the day—and Doyle was laughing.  For once, they'd won without any shadows to dim the—

"The celebration is in full swing, I see."

Bodie felt his smile freeze.  He looked up to see Murphy joining them, beer in hand.

"Got away at last, did you?"  Doyle gestured with his beer glass.  "We gave him his reward."  Doyle pulled a chair up across from Bodie.

"Ah, sorry I missed that."  Murphy sat down in the chair next to Bodie.  "Well-deserved, mate."  Murphy's tone was overly earnest.

Bodie gave him a look.  "Yeah.  Thanks."  He forced himself to relax—Murphy knew the score.  He'd proven that on the case.  He hadn't said or done anything to recall that night in his flat.

"Let me see it."  Murphy leaned across, and clasped Bodie's wrist to see the watch.  "Very nice."

Bodie pulled his arm away.

"It's quartz, you know."  Murphy was clearly amused.

"That's right," Doyle said.  "Only the best for you, mate."  Doyle was grinning, but there was a slight crease between his brows.

"I think it's cute," Gerda said from Bodie's other side.  "And appropriate."

"Except possibly for the man of steel part.  The door won that fight."  Murphy toasted him with his glass.

"I wasn't talking about his abilities."  She looked around at them.  "Underneath it all, you're not very different from Henry.  Any of you."

Stuart leaned closer to her.  "With these lads, I wouldn't argue with you.  But some of us are a bit older."

"Quite a bit."  Doyle sipped from his glass.

"I like young," Gerda said.

"I can do young."  Stuart looked at Doyle.  "Tell her, Doyle."

"He can do young.  He likes to shoot things."

"You and all your guns."  Gerda shook her head.  "Like a game."

"Weren't you the one playing pinball like a professional?"  Bodie shifted, and winced as his shoulder twinged.

"Pinball is a game of skill."

"Yes, and dexterity of eye and finger."  Stuart set his glass down on the table.  "Have you played Joker Poker?"

"No, I don't think."

"It's new—solid state."  Stuart sat down next to Gerda and launched into a detailed description of the game.

Murphy nudged Bodie.  "Are you all right?"  His voice was low.

"Yeah, of course."  He picked up his pint.

"What was the verdict?"

"Dislocated."  He looked up and caught Doyle's eyes on him, although Doyle appeared to be listening to Gerda and Stuart.

"Ah. Sore and weak, but quick to heal."

"Yeah."

"I've done it myself on a climb.  Nasty."

"Rock climbing?" Doyle asked.

"Yes.  Scotland that time."  Murphy drank some of his beer.

"You've done some climbing, haven't you?"  Doyle looked at Bodie.

"Yeah, in the army.  Not as much as Murphy, though."

"I've invited him along next time there's an opportunity."

"I've always wanted to try it."  Doyle smiled.  "If I wouldn't hold you back."

"No, that would be fine.  We could always carry you between us, if need be."  Murphy smiled back.

"Thanks"  Doyle glanced towards Bodie.  "You're empty, mate.  Want another?"

"Are you on pain meds?"  Murphy asked.

"Yes and no, I'm not, you interfering bastard."  Bodie looked up as Doyle rose to his feet—and stilled.  There was a question in Doyle's eyes, and there was no hiding his own answer: _Did you?  I did._   Fuck.  _Fuck._

"Right."  Doyle looked at him a moment longer.  "Two it is."  He turned abruptly towards the bar.

"Just checking."  Murphy raised his hands, grinning.  He hadn't a clue about what had just happened—Bodie was sure of it.  Bodie watched Doyle disappear into the crowd, and wondered if he'd be back.

Bodie moved towards Murphy.  "Pardon me.  Loo."  Murphy shifted back as Bodie climbed out, but one of Murphy's hands brushed against Bodie's thigh.  Bodie looked around quickly.  Thankfully, Gerda and Stuart were oblivious to anything but their own conversation.  He turned back to Murphy.

"Sorry."  Murphy's expression became more convincing the longer Bodie looked at him.  "Bodie—"

Bodie left him and made his way through the pub to the back corridor.  Thank God Doyle had missed the byplay.  But—sod it: he knew.  It was the downside to the way they understood each other—read each other.  Doyle knew, and he'd...walked away.  On impulse, Bodie went straight past the loo and out the door to the alley behind the pub.  The cool night air hit him in a rush.  He let the door slam shut behind him. 

Okay.  Did it matter?  Doyle wasn't going to make an issue of it, that was clear.  He'd had Esther, Bodie had had—  Bodie walked down the alley towards the car park.  It mattered.  _I—Christ.  I need...._   Doyle had begun to budge; he'd called Bodie.  On this last op, there had been times when he'd caught Doyle looking at him.  He wanted Doyle to need him.  He wanted Doyle to realise it was better when they were together.

_You tell me, what we should do, Bodie._

_We go back to how it was._

He'd said what Doyle needed to hear.  Maybe they'd both needed to hear it—just to survive that moment.  Doyle had been serious about Ann—had flung himself into her arms with a recklessness that was wholly unlike him.  As quick to passion as Doyle might be, he'd never lost his head like that before.  Never. 

He'd thought they'd patched the hole Keith had created.  He'd hoped for it that night in Doyle's bed, after Dreisinger had nearly killed them.  Together they could get through anything.  Doyle had been in a chancy mood in the days after, but that was nothing new after a close call.  Especially when Doyle had blamed himself for Bodie's blown cover. Then Ann had come between them, and Doyle....  Doyle had been ready to marry her.  To escape the job?  No.  To escape Bodie. 

She wouldn't bloody well die on me!  She wouldn't kill herself—

He walked through the car park, heading for another alley.  Doyle had been afraid.  Well, who the fuck wasn't?  That was why he'd run from the stupid, sodding—  It had all fallen apart with Keith.  He hadn't wanted to sacrifice the partnership—dammit, he'd been trying to _protect_ the partnership.  Protect Doyle—keep him out of it.  It wasn't worth the risk.  He hadn't wanted to risk anything—Doyle's job, Doyle's life, Doyle's sodding understanding.  Doyle had made his opinion clear years ago, when Krivas had turned up.  He remembered it too well:  _Bodie, you're no better than he is._    It had stung.  They had been partners for two years and Doyle had still thought him a thug for seeking vengeance.  Doyle might say he understood; he might say they all had a bit of Tommy inside, but when it came down to it, Bodie didn't believe—

He stopped, and his breath caught in his lungs.  He hadn't believed him.r32;r32;

_You owed me._

Bodie leaned against a building wall at the entrance to the alley, and closed his eyes.  He saw Doyle looking at him:  _Did you?  I did._   There had been disbelief in that look, and it had seared him.  He'd seen it before—in the woods with King Billy.  Fuck.  Doyle had been right.  All of this had been about trust—and the partnership they'd built between them in the years after Krivas.  You didn't leave your partner's back exposed; you didn't shut him out.  He'd treated Doyle like he'd treated Murphy—like he'd treated Turner, for God's sake.  He hadn't trusted Doyle enough to tell him.  No wonder Doyle had looked disbelieving; no wonder he'd been stung.  Cold swept through Bodie.  How long would the partnership survive?  Trust was the foundation.  The risk—

"All right, mate.  Hand it over."

Bodie looked up.  There were three of them—young, male, and the one who'd spoken carried a knife.  Stupid, stupid.  He hadn't heard their approach.  He pushed himself away from the wall, but kept his back to it.  He was in no condition for a fight.  "Don't do it, kid. I'm CI5."

"Yeah, and I'm in the Royal Marines.  Hand over your wallet."  The boy's knife hand wasn't entirely steady.  "Now!"

"Okay.  Take it easy."  Bodie fumbled with the inside of his jacket, as if reaching for his wallet.  Dammit, he couldn't get to his gun fast enough with his left hand.  He'd have to get them off-balance first.  The boy took a step forward.  Bodie turned and used his left shoulder to ram him. The boy fell back, off his feet, and onto the ground.  Bodie kicked the knife out of the boy's hand, turned, and another of the boys hit him.  The blow lacked skill, but it slammed him against the corner of the building, his bruised shoulder taking most of the impact.  Agony shot through him, and he fell to his knees.

"Get him!"

He curled into a ball as a boot landed against his ribs.  Shit, he was in trouble.  And if he survived, Doyle was going to kill him.  He heard a shout, and someone else joined the fight.  He lifted his head, and saw Doyle.  Doyle threw one of the lads into the wall, then elbowed another as he came up behind him.  Doyle spun and landed a punch to that boy's neck.  The boy went down.  But boy with the knife was on his feet again, rushing Doyle—

"Ray!"  His voice was a croak, but it served the purpose.  Doyle turned, and deflected the knife blow.  He and the boy fell to the ground in a tangle.  Doyle rolled away, but it gave the boy enough time to scramble to his feet.  All three boys were up now, but they took off down the alley rather than continue the fight.  Doyle started after them, then stopped.  He pulled out his R/T, hesitated, and put it away.

"Ray."  Bodie closed his eyes.  Pain radiated from his shoulder.  He didn't think he'd dislocated it again, but it throbbed.

He heard Doyle approach him.  "Bodie?  You all right?"

Ray sodding Doyle had come for him, just as he always did—in the woods, at the air strip, in the car park even after he'd found out—  Bodie opened his eyes.  Doyle stood before him, still breathing hard, still broadcasting aggression.  He was fucking beautiful.  Bodie started to laugh, ignoring the protest from his body.  Doyle had bloody well come after him.

"Dammit, Bodie."  Doyle's voice shook.  "What the fuck did you think you were doing?  You're in no shape for this! Bloody fool."

"I'm sorry."  For so much, he was sorry for so much.

"Sorry!  Par for the course for you, mate!  Running off on your own, playing the hero, even when you're—you wouldn't have left _me_ behind in that bank, you stupid prick."  Doyle leaned down, and grabbed hold of Bodie's good shoulder.

Bodie took a grip on Doyle's arm.  No, he wouldn't have left Doyle behind.  Never again.  But more importantly, Doyle wouldn't have stayed behind.  "Ray.  What if I'd lost to Krivas?"

"What?  What the fuck are you—?"

"Krivas.  Remember that fight?  What if I'd lost?"  But he knew the answer; he'd known it all along.  And he pulled on Doyle's arm; he pulled him down and kissed him—hard and open-mouthed.  He felt Doyle brace himself against his shoulder, but Doyle didn't break the kiss.  He let Doyle feel his hunger, and his pain.  Finally, Doyle jerked back, but Bodie tightened his hold.

"It's not over, Doyle.  Do you hear me?"  He saw Doyle's eyes widen, felt the tension in his arm muscles.  "It'll never be over."  Doyle was still breathing quickly.  "Never."

"You bastard."  Doyle's voice was harsh, but his hands were gentle as he helped Bodie to his feet.

Bodie said nothing.  He cradled his arm.  His ribs hurt. He wasn't certain he could walk.

Doyle put his arm around him, and jammed a shoulder up under Bodie's left arm.  "I'm not starting that up again."  He urged Bodie forward.

"Yeah."  They moved a few steps.

"You said we'd go back to how it was—before it got complicated."

Bodie concentrated on breathing.  "Pointless.  It was complicated the day we met.  You need me."

"I don't."

"Yeah?  What was that shout about at the ambulance, then?"

"Shut up."  Doyle's arm tightened around him.

"You called me the night Esther left."

"That was—"  Doyle broke off.

"You needing me."  Bodie stopped them.  "Like I need you."

"Yeah, I saw that just now.  But I had to _find_ you."  Doyle moved them forward again.  "Anyway, your new boyfriend would object."

"He's not—it was one time.  A mistake." 

"Not to him.  Look, no other agents."

"Absolutely.  Unless it's Susan."

"Berk."  They walked past the alley leading to the back corridor of the pub.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Away from temptation."

"You're here."

"Nothing's changed!"  They reached Doyle's car.  "Get that through your head."  Doyle eased away from him and unlocked the door.

Bodie leaned against the car.  "I couldn't do you justice tonight, anyway."

Doyle closed his eyes.  "Bodie—"

"Ray."  He waited until Doyle looked at him.  "That's my point.  It _is_ back the way it was.  This is us.  How the hell do you think we got there in the first place?"

Doyle didn't say anything.

"It's all the same thing—involvement—whether we have sex or not.  The only way to end it is to stop being partners.  How'd you get on with Stuart, then?"

"We didn't go to bed together."  Doyle's tone was acidic.  "Unlike—

"We never made it to a bed.  And on the op I ended up with a dislocated shoulder because he wasn't you."

Doyle looked up at the sky.

"We've done all right on the job, but that won't last if we don't clear this between us."

"You think sex will do that?"

"No, I think sex is inevitable."  He grinned when Doyle finally looked at him.

"Sod off."

"It's simple, you know—our pattern.  You come after me.  I stay for you."

Doyle shook his head.  "I'm not doing this."

"You want a permanent reassignment?"  He held his breath.

"No.  Damn you."

"Then partners it is."  Bodie waited out Doyle's glare.

"Partners who shag other people."

"If you like."  He let his eyes survey Doyle.

"Get in the car, Bodie."r32;r32;"Yes, Ray."  He climbed into the car as Doyle headed around to the other side.  Doyle would see.  Trust could be rebuilt.  "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home—your home."  Doyle settled into the driver's seat.

Bodie nodded.

"To sleep.  Alone."  Doyle started the car.  "Unless you want me to call—"

"Leave it out, Ray."  Bodie leaned his head back against the seat as Doyle drove out of the car park.

"Bloody Superman.  You think you know everything."

Bodie smiled.  It might be that he did.


	39. Coda to Blood Sports

He was going to murder Bodie.  "Anita.  If this is about the bugs...."

"Under your signature?  No, I half-expected that.  Ah, Ray, no.  You are a—mmm."  She kissed him, but broke away before he could deepen it.  "Lovely man.  But it's not right."

"What's not right?"  He rested his hands on her hips, and tried to kiss her, but she pulled back.

"It's not right because, while I can do casual—and we both know this is casual between us—I prefer to be the centre of a man's attention."

"You are!"

She shook her head, and disengaged from his hold.  "No.  I have had enough experience to know when a man's thoughts are elsewhere.  Your Major Cowley and Mr Bodie, perhaps, reminded you of something—or someone?"

"There is no one."  He was going to kill him very slowly and painfully.  He reached for her.

She smiled and patted him on the cheek.  "It is the wrong time, Ray.  A pity, yes, but true."

He sighed.  "You're not going to change your mind."

"No.  Now go."  She shooed him towards the door.  "Find whoever it is and ask her to forgive you."

"What makes you think I was at fault?"

She shrugged.  "You are a man, are you not?"  She pushed him towards the door.

"That's sexist!"  He was laughing as he reached the door.

"Oh, yes."  She opened the door for him.  "It is."

He cupped her face with his hands.  "You are a remarkable woman, Anita Cabreros."  He kissed her, and they both knew it was farewell.

"Yes, I am."  She smiled.  "Another time, Ray, perhaps."

He nodded, and turned to leave.

"Oh, the microphone, in the fish tank.…"

"Keep it.  Souvenir."  He grinned and left, closing the door behind him.  His smile faded as he walked down the stairs.  Bloody Bodie.  What the hell was wrong with him?  He was being so...sodding...cheerful.  Doyle jerked open the front door to the block.  Bodie had been laughing as he'd left with Cowley.  In fact, he'd been amused by Doyle's pursuit of Anita right from the start.  _I just didn't want you being cuckolded, that's all._   Yeah, chance would be a fine thing.

Doyle stopped as he saw Cowley's car parked next to the kerb.  His own car was in the alley behind the block.  What had Cowley said?  A fine pub around the corner.  Doyle glanced along the street.  Well, why not?  He turned to walk down the street.  He might as well supply the evening's entertainment for them.  It had all been going to well with Anita, until....  Bodie had seemed genuinely surprised to see him.  And he'd brought Cowley along to help him retrieve the equipment.  Well, he had seen Anita outraged before, so maybe that wasn't unreasonable.  Still, it was odd.  Bodie hadn't even tried to flirt with Anita.  Not his type?  Since when was any bird not Bodie's type?  What was he up to?

There was an obvious answer—if it was anyone but Bodie.  Look at the evidence: Bodie had invited him to the cricket match— _C'mon, mate, don't make me face all those coppers on my own._   He'd invited him out— _Fancy a game of squash?_   He'd invited him to dinner— _Takeaway. Good game on the box._   Not a bird in sight—it was as if he was being bloody well courted by the mad bastard.  All of Bodie's charm directed straight at him, with the goal of getting him in bed.  He hadn't been surprised by that—Bodie had given him fair warning, after all.  Doyle had no intention of going along with it.  He wasn't going to lay himself open like that again.  _I—Christ.  I need...._   Bodie had turned him down.  Bodie had been with—  He cut off the thought.  It didn't matter.  It was better this way—they'd adjusted.  They were partners, not—

_I think sex is inevitable._

Dammit.  All right, so he'd wanted Bodie—it was all too easy to fall for his act.  But Doyle wasn't going to just fall into bed with him.  He'd been prepared for Bodie to make his move that night at his flat—he'd had all his arguments readied.  Yet when the game had ended, all Bodie had said was: "That's it.  I'm knackered.  See you tomorrow, mate."  He'd ruffled Doyle's hair and...left.  The bloody bastard.  What the fuck was he up to?

Doyle paused just outside the pub, where the noises of a happy crowd carried to him.  How long had it been since he'd been that carefree?  _It was complicated the day we met._   They'd gone to a pub then, too.  And Bodie had given him some advice.  So, maybe he'd take a leaf from Bodie's book—he'd stay cool.  If Bodie wanted him, he'd have to ask—and Doyle would think about it.  No more of this chasing after him as if he—

"Didn't expect to see you here, mate." 

And there the bastard was, grinning at him.  Sod it.  Doyle stepped aside as a laughing group of men and women pushed past him into the pub.

"Why, Doyle, I thought you were practicing public relations."  Cowley was right behind Bodie.

"I was, sir."

"Ah, hit a snag, did you?"  Bodie looked concerned.  "Come to drown your sorrows?"

Doyle narrowed his eyes.  "No, I—"

"I trust Miss Cabreros was satisfied CI5 acted in her best interests throughout?"

"Yes, sir. I believe—"

"Did you fish the equipment out?"  There was definitely laughter in Bodie's voice.

"No, but—"

"Good."  Cowley spoke at the same time as Doyle.  "I have always found the personal touch—"

"I've come to take Bodie home."  The words came out stronger than he had intended.

"Ah, didn't want to chance your—eh?"  At least he had the pleasure of seeing Bodie momentarily startled.

Cowley looked at Doyle.  "I see."

"Well," Doyle scrambled for a rationale, "I saw there was just your car and reckoned...."  He trailed off.

"Very commendable, Doyle—looking out for your partner."

"As you taught us, sir."

Cowley looked wry. "I doubt that."  He nodded to both of them.  "I'll see you two in the morning, then.  Bright and early."

"Yes, sir," Bodie said.   They watched as Cowley made his way down the street.  "Bastard."

"Me or him?"

"Could you have been more blatant?"

"About what?  Look, do you want a lift or not?"

"Now that you've stranded me—yes."

Doyle turned to retrace his steps.  "That's fair enough—you told Cowley about the replacement bugs, didn't you?"

"Would I do that?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Is that why she threw you out?"

"She didn't throw me out."  They crossed the street and turned into the alley behind Anita's block.

"Yet here you are, taking me away from Cowley—and the food he was just getting around to suggesting."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean to interfere with your plans.  Wasn't it Susan who was hoping to get you and Cowley...?"

"Let's not start that up again."

Doyle waited for the obvious continuation of that thought.  Bodie, damn him, said nothing as they approached the car.  "Look, what is it you want?"  And again, Bodie was silent.

 _You come after me.  I stay for you._   Like hell.  Bodie had done nothing but run from him—right from the start, just as Doyle had expected.

Bodie finally spoke. "I told you."  He stopped, and turned towards Doyle.  He looked serious in the light from the street lamp.  He looked sincere.  Doyle felt the truth of that, just as he'd felt it that day when he'd come home from his run, knowing Bodie was waiting for him.  But he also remembered the gutted feeling of realising just how far Bodie had gone to freeze him out in the weeks afterwards.  It had been like the early days in their partnership—when that ice in Bodie had been much nearer the surface.  He hadn't expected to find it again.

"I don't—"

Bodie put a hand over Doyle's mouth.  "Dinner."  He brushed Doyle's lips as he removed his hand.

"What?"

"I'm starving, Ray."

He was going to murder Bodie.  He really was.  "Bodie—"

His voice was cut off as Bodie took his mouth with a fly-by kiss.  "Unless you have other ideas."

Stay cool, dammit.  Uninvolved.  Like he'd been with Esther.  "It seems you do."

"Always."  Bodie stepped back.  "But not tonight, eh?"  And the arrogant bastard moved towards the car.

"Want me to go down on you?"  He watched with some satisfaction as Bodie stopped mid-step.  Doyle prowled forward.  "Here and now."

Bodie's face was still.  "I want later."

"That's not the offer."

Bodie looked at him.  "What would you do, Ray, if I said yes?  We both know what would happen."

His stomach twisted.  "Fuck you."r32;r32;"I suspect that's not on offer, either."  He breathed in, then out.  "Come on.  You can buy me a drink.  I need one."

"I thought you were after dinner."  Doyle unlocked the passenger door.  "Made you forget, did I?"  He started to turn, but Bodie grabbed him, pressed against his back, and Bodie's hand settled on his groin.  Doyle bit back a groan.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."  Bodie released him, and it seemed his good humour was restored.  "You're a menace.  Do you want me to drive?"

"Sod off."  Doyle walked around to the other side of the car, climbed in, and slammed the door.  He started the car.

"I told you it wasn't over."  Bodie's voice was quiet.

Doyle drove the car out of the alley, then merged into traffic.  "I know."  And the truth was, he didn't want it to be.  Stay cool: Bodie's own motto.  If you couldn't beat them, join them.


	40. Coda to Slush Fund

Bodie was waiting for him outside Cowley's office.  Doyle raised his eyebrows.  "I thought you were long gone."

"Without you?  Tut, tut.  Whither thou goest and all that."  Bodie flung an arm around him and urged him down the corridor.  "Cowley all finished with you?"

"Yes.  Where do you think you're taking me?"  He shrugged off Bodie's arm.  The conversation with Cowley had left him in no mood to put up with Bodie's pranks.

"Home, my lad."

"I am not going home with you."

"Did I say my home?"

"Bodie—"  He stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"Your car's not here, Ray.  How are you going to get home, eh?  Bodie looked back at him as if a lascivious thought had never crossed his mind.

"That's very decent of you."

"Just returning the favour.  Can we go now?"

"Yes, but not too fast, please, David."  He grinned, and fell into step with Bodie.  Despite Bodie's continued campaign to wind him up, or seduce him, he felt better simply being with the idiot.

"Long day."

Doyle sighed.  "Yeah."  They'd saved Martin Hope, but it almost felt as if they'd lost.

_Ray. Van Neikerk killed....  There was a girl in your room._

Bodie had been concentrating on the road when he'd told him.  They'd been on their way to the newspaper office, and the showdown with Van Neikerk.  Relief, anticipation—everything he'd felt as he'd climbed into the car with Bodie, had been swamped by guilt.  He'd known, of course, who it had to have been. 

_I found her in the bath. Thought she was you for a moment._

It should have been him, but for some reason Van Neikerk had simply got him out of the way.  Doyle had awakened in the car boot, disoriented, sick, but alive.  She had been strangled.

 _If it hadn't been Van Neikerk, it would have been someone else.  She had a death wish, mate._   He'd said the words to Bodie in the car.  He hadn't known how close to the truth he'd been.

"Ray?  Home?"

They were at the Capri.  "Yeah."  He climbed in, and leaned his head against the seat as Bodie started the car.

"Head hurting?"

"No."

Bodie drove the car into the street.  Midnight had come and gone while they had been finishing with the clean-up, and there was no traffic to speak of on the streets.  He'd sleep in his own flat tonight—better than he'd slept in the hotel.  He'd felt trapped there.  Just as she'd been.

"Her name was Lisa."  Cowley had told him—she never had.  She'd made a game of it.  "The girl…."

"Who died.  Yeah, I know." Bodie's voice was subdued, lacking the exuberant cheer of recent weeks.

"She shouldn't have been there.  I should never....  I didn't think she'd come back."  He trailed off, his hand clenching.

"Hindsight."

"Cowley said her husband and child died in a traffic accident five months ago.  According to her family, she'd been in a tailspin ever since."

Bodie sighed.  "Like you said, she had a death wish."

"No one wants to die alone and in terror."  _Well, I'm lonely. A bit scared._   She'd got to him with those words.

"No."  Bodie changed down a gear as they approached a roundabout.  "But maybe she couldn't live, either."

"With the memories, you mean."  He felt something like a chill inside.

"The loss.  Yeah."

"Yeah."  Did it ever get any easier?  So many lives lost—Syd, Tommy, Tony, Matheson and King....

"You'd cope."

Doyle turned his head to look at him.

"If I died."  Bodie's tone was neutral.

"What the fuck does that mean?

Bodie glanced at him.  "It means you're a tough bastard.  You'd cope.  If you had to."

There was so much he wanted to deny in that statement—had to deny.  He settled for the most obvious: "We're not—"

"Don't kid yourself."

"Dammit, Bodie!"

Would you be happier if I said you'd go out on suicide missions?  Christ, Doyle, what do you want?"

"I—"  Doyle broke off, tangled in his own words.  He was equally angry that Bodie might think he'd cope, as not cope.

"There's no easy answer, is there?"  Bodie's voice now was sympathetic.

"You bastard."

"You were working yourself around to us, weren't you?  I'm just pre-empting the argument.  We're long past involvement Doyle, and you know it."  He took in a deep breath.  "It would be like an amputation.  Worse."

"So we might as well go to bed together, is that it?"

Bodie grinned.  "Well, if that's your conclusion...."

"This is your tactic now?  Live for the day, Doyle, for tomorrow we die?"

Bodie shrugged.  "It's not a bad philosophy."

Doyle turned away.  "She died trying to forget."

"Do you really think she did?"

He didn't answer Bodie's quiet question.  He let the conversation drop, as they drove towards his home.  Yes, he'd be gutted if he lost Bodie—that was nothing new.  But death wasn't his greatest fear.  He had already failed once at keeping his emotions out of a sexual relationship with Bodie.  He had begun to expect too much from him.  He'd hoped—  Even Bodie had known it: _You need me._   If he did start it up again, he'd have to protect himself—protect the partnership from the bitterness of unmet expectations.  And God help him, he wanted nothing more now than to take Bodie to bed.  He wanted to forget the fear he'd felt in that boot, forget the loneliness of his hotel room, forget her desperation.  He wanted to disappear into Bodie, surrounded by him—but that was the problem, wasn't it?  How could you disappear into something insubstantial—like fog in the light of day?

He didn't realise they'd arrived until Bodie stopped the car.  He put a hand on the door handle, then hesitated.  "Bodie...."  But he couldn't ask him; he couldn't.  He glanced at Bodie, feeling at a loss, and saw the tight grip of Bodie's hands on the wheel.

_I found her in the bath. Thought she was you for a moment._

Christ.  He hadn't thought.  _And I need you._   He'd always understood Bodie's need—right from the start:  _I need to know where you are_ , Bodie had said after Preston had nearly killed Doyle.  Fear had driven Bodie into his arms, and fear had ridden Bodie ever since—the Forrester op, Cowley's blind run, Van Neikerk.  He'd thought Bodie's manic glee today had been part of his plan to get to Doyle.  It hadn't occurred to him it might have masked something else entirely.

"I don't want to leave you."  Bodie's voice was flat, but Doyle heard the emotion behind it. 

_You need me.  And I need you._

"I know."  It was a two-way street with them; it always had been.  Bodie's need was matched by his.  He'd told Bodie the truth that night after Preston: _I need to know...you'll be here._   But Bodie couldn't give him that.  If he'd learned anything in the last months, he'd learned that truth.  So where did that leave them now?

He saw Bodie's eyes close briefly.  "Good night, Ray."

Maybe sometimes it was a one-way street.  "No.  Come in with me."  He got out of the car before he could say anything more—before Bodie could respond.  It was his choice.  He'd have only himself to blame if he let his guard down.  He heard the second car door slam, and knew Bodie was following him into the building.  He'd stay cool; he'd live for the fucking day.  He'd have no expectations—no trust in the future.  Bodie wanted him—needed him—here and now.  And Doyle wouldn't deny him.

He led Bodie up the stairs to his flat, unlocked his door, and deactivated the alarms.  Bodie turned on a light as he walked ahead into the hallway while Doyle closed the door.  Doyle turned and found himself in Bodie's arms, and Bodie's mouth on his.  His heart leapt, his body reacted immediately to Bodie's passion—and he wasn't going to stop it this time.  He knew what was driving Bodie; he understood his urgency, and the need for proof.  He could almost hear Bodie's thoughts as his arms tightened around Doyle, and his mouth took him:  _You could have died.  He got the drop on you, you dozy bastard.  I could have found you in the bath._

Bodie's jacket was open and Doyle slipped his hands inside.  He felt Bodie shudder as his fingers brushed against skin.  Bodie maneouvred them until Doyle was pressed against the door, pinned by Bodie's weight.  He wanted it like this—hard and fast, with no time for regrets.  He pulled his mouth away from Bodie's, panting, and Bodie buried his face in Doyle's neck.  "Come on.  The door's sturdy."  He slid his groin against Bodie's.  "Come on, then."  Bodie sucked at his neck, and Doyle closed his eyes as the sensation went straight to his cock.

But Bodie paused, and with a final caress of his tongue, he moved back, releasing Doyle.  Puzzled, Doyle opened his eyes, and saw Bodie staring him with an odd expression on his face.  Bodie reached out and lightly touched Doyle's cheek.  His fingers trembled.

Doyle frowned.  "What is it?"

Bodie didn't say anything, but slid his hand down Doyle's shoulder and arm to his wrist, and tugged him away from the door.  Doyle let himself be led to the bedroom where the darkness was softened by the faint glow of a street lamp.  Bodie didn't turn on a light, and he retained his clasp on Doyle's wrist, tightening it as Doyle would have pulled away.

"Could do with some food," Doyle said, seeking to lighten the atmosphere, confused by the change in Bodie.

"Later."  Bodie moved in close to him, his body radiating heat.

Doyle raised his head.  "It's just sex."  It was comfort—a way to manage fear.  It seemed important to establish that.

Bodie cupped Doyle's face with his hands.  "Yeah."  He leaned forward as he drew Doyle to him, and his kiss now was sweetly gentle.  Doyle's stomach tightened, and he felt a piercing ache deep inside.  "Just sex."  Bodie whispered the words against his lips.  Doyle gave in to Bodie's mood, and let him set the pace.  Bodie explored his mouth, as if Doyle were new to him, as if they had all the time in the world.  His thumb rubbed slowly over Doyle's cheek.  Doyle shivered, and finally broke the kiss, turning away as he took a step back.  Bodie let him go.

Doyle took in a shaky breath.  "Thought you'd want it faster than this, sunshine."  At least his voice was normal.  Doyle pulled off his jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt while he kicked off his shoes.

"Sometimes."  Behind him, he heard Bodie undressing.  "Not tonight."

Doyle finished with his clothing, turned round and saw Bodie's pale skin in the semi-darkness.  How long had it been?  Risk or not, he knew what he wanted.  He moved forward as Bodie straightened.  Bodie wasn't the only one who could set the pace.  In one smooth motion, he knelt before Bodie and took his cock in his mouth.

"Jesus—Doyle."  Bodie's words were nearly a hiss, and his hands settled on Doyle's head, fingers threaded through his hair.  Bodie's cock jumped.  Yeah, that was what Doyle wanted—urgency that took all thought away; driving passion that left little room for tenderness.  He sucked on Bodie's cock, enjoying the bulk of it, enjoying the response.  Bodie groaned, and quivered under Doyle's touch, as if he was restraining himself.  But he wanted Bodie to let go, wanted him to take what he needed.  One of Bodie's hands moved over his head—to his face, neck, and back—as if Bodie wanted to touch all he could reach; to mark—  And with a lurch, Doyle remembered that night in the hospital after Crabbe and Pendle had finished with him.  Bodie had mapped every inch of him that night—unable to fuck him, unable to talk, his touch had spoken equally of need and possession.  He'd been angered by the arrogance of it, the presumption—perhaps he hadn't taken into account the equal display of vulnerability.

He eased back, and let Bodie's cock slide from his mouth, one hand stroking along Bodie's leg.  He heard Bodie's breath catch.  Doyle rose, his own cock brushing against Bodie's.  "I didn't die," he said, as he claimed a kiss from Bodie's mouth.  He felt tension in Bodie's neck, but Bodie's arm came around him and held him close.  "You didn't find me there."  Their tongues met, and Bodie pressed forward.  Doyle braced himself, and met Bodie's desire without wavering.  Van Neikerk could have killed him; he could have died in the boot of a car engulfed in flames.  Either of them could have died in the newspaper building.  They were Cowley's best team, and this was how they settled their nerves, got themselves back on track.

Bodie stopped the kiss finally, and he pulled Doyle with him onto the bed, and into his arms.  Doyle went willingly and lay on top of him, their cocks rubbing together.  He kissed and licked Bodie's chest, while Bodie stroked down his back, and moved against him.

"You're more than ready, aren't you?"  Doyle bit one of Bodie's nipples.  "Oh, yeah.  Hang on."  He stretched to reach the drawer in the cabinet next to his bed.  Bodie's hand settled around Doyle's cock, and pulled along it.  Doyle froze a moment.  "Bodie!"  He had little breath for the protest.

"You did say hang on."  Bodie kissed his side, then nuzzled into his arm pit.

Doyle opened the drawer and found the lube.  "I may—ah."  He broke off as Bodie nipped him.  "Bloody vampire."   He settled back into the bed, content with the gasp he heard as his hip pressed against Bodie's cock.  He handed the tube to Bodie.  "Here."  He lay down on his back.

Bodie rolled onto his side.  "Oh, you want me to do all the work, is that it?"

"That's the general idea."   He closed his eyes as Bodie leaned over and kissed his cock.  "You can...carry on with that, if you want."

"Generous of you."  Bodie's mouth was replaced by his hand, and Doyle realised Bodie was applying the lube to him.  He opened his eyes.

"Lazy git.  Are you going to make me—"  He breath caught in his lungs as his cock pulsed.

"Oh yes, I can see it'll be a problem for you."  Bodie shifted up and kissed him on the mouth.  "You need it, Ray."  The tube was pressed into Doyle's hand.  "How do you want me?"

Doyle sat up.  "On your stomach."  Back to the basics.  He kissed the hollow of Bodie's back as Bodie pulled a pillow underneath him.  And there was Bodie's arse.  He rubbed and kissed him, and slid a hand to Bodie's balls and cock as well.  He remembered what Bodie liked; remembered that Bodie would tense as his finger entered him. And it flitted through Doyle's mind to wonder if Murphy had fucked Bodie, if he had tried—  _We never made it to a bed._   Murphy wouldn't have known the added touch that would relax Bodie, and make him eager for more.

Bodie groaned.  "Christ, Doyle.  Get on with it, you—ahh."  Bodie impaled himself on Doyle's fingers.

"Impatient bugger."  Doyle wrapped an arm around Bodie, and they both sighed as he pushed into him.  It felt good—so right—to be inside Bodie.  To see his back, and hear his moan, and his rough voice.  He could smell Bodie's arousal, and it fed his own.  He'd wanted to take it slowly, but he couldn't resist the urge to move strongly, shove into him all the way.  He needed to fuck—Bodie had been right; he needed it.  "Bodie—"

Bodie moved with him, perfectly in rhythm.  "That's right.  Get it out.  Come on."

He pushed into Bodie, right to his balls, his cock—oh God—surrounded, caressed.

"Forget her, forget everything—except me.  You won't forget me, Ray.  Never me.  It'll never be over...."

And he knew it was the truth.  His senses filled with Bodie—his memory ignited, like a blaze in his mind.  "Damn you."  He was down to the short strokes, the gathering inside unstoppable—as unstoppable as Bodie himself.

"That's right...that's....  Ah, fuck.  I won't leave.  I won't—"

"Don't!"  He cried it out, and felt his face twist.  It was a lie, but he knew why Bodie said it.  It was the moment; in the moment—all they'd have together.  He'd always remember.  He surged into Bodie, released all he had into him, joined with him.  He thought he heard Bodie shout, but he was caught in a maelstrom and could do nothing until it let him go.  He collapsed onto Bodie's back, his arm still around him, shaking.  His eyes closed as the sparks gradually faded, and he slid onto the bed, still breathing fast.  Christ, oh Christ.

He felt Bodie turn, and then his mouth was taken again, but without urgency.  Bodie's fingers lightly touched his neck.  "I thought she was you."  Bodie spoke in a whisper, but Doyle understood the words.

He kept his own voice gentle.  "It will be one day."  Doyle turned his head and kissed Bodie's wrist.  "You're the realist, mate."

"Not always."

Doyle brushed Bodie's face with his knuckles.  "Nah, eyes wide open—that's you.  Live for the day."

"Doyle—" 

He moved his fingers to Bodie's mouth.  "We're okay." 

Bodie kissed his fingers.  "Are we?"  His eyes were sombre.

Doyle turned onto his back.  "Yeah.  A mess, mind, but...okay."

He heard Bodie's slight laugh.  "Your bed, mate."

"Terrific."  He closed his eyes, exhaustion finally claiming him.  It had been a mutual need—Bodie had read him as easily as he'd read Bodie.  This was who they were.  It was as inevitable as Bodie had said: partners, lovers—he never should have tried to stop it.  He drifted towards sleep with Bodie still there beside him.  He might wake to find Bodie gone, but he realised now it didn't matter.  He wouldn't let it matter.  He'd protect them both from unrealistic expectations.


	41. Coda to The Gun

Bodie opened his eyes. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, and that it wasn't Doyle lying beside him.  His stomach tightened.  It hadn't been Doyle for nearly a week now.  He heard Doyle's voice in his head:  _Drop me off at my car, will you._   He'd been so casual—just another day at the office.  But their office was the streets, and he and Doyle had nearly died chasing O'Reilly.  They'd both been on edge afterwards, although neither had acknowledged it.  Then Inger had called.

He shifted on the bed, and brushed against Inger.  He'd wanted to make sure she was all right, and they'd ended up in bed—comfort sex, and a couple of hours of sleep to start the day.  He glanced at the clock and stifled a groan.  Make that less than an hour's sleep.

"Go back to sleep, Bodie."  Inger's voice was weary.

"You should talk.  Are you going to work?"  He was supposed to have the day off, but that would depend on whether anyone found Paul.

She sighed.  "Yes.  I've got to take the Lower Fourth for games this afternoon."

"No rest for the wicked, eh?"  He shifted in the bed and stroked her arm.

"Who are you calling wicked?"

"Sex in the light of day?  What would you call it?"

"Not one of our better efforts.  Anyway, the curtains are closed."

"Technicalities.  And it was...nice."

She chuckled.  "God, we're old, aren't we?"

"We are nothing of the sort."

She turned on her side to face him.  "I feel old today."

"We'll find him.  Doyle is putting the word out."

"I like your Ray.  Why haven't you introduced us before?"

He shrugged.  "Dunno."

"Secretive bastard."

"Have to be in my job.  It's a habit."

"But you like compartmentalising your life, don't you?"

"Maybe.  It's easier that way."

"Yes."  She looked pensive.

"What?"

"Oh, just thinking.  Remember how we met?"

"As I recall, you crashed into my car."

"No.  You put your brakes on when you suddenly decided to go left instead of right."

"And you crashed into me.  Poor reflexes."

"You offered me dinner."

"Ah, I was a good lad."

"You were a randy lad on leave. And so young."

"That's not even ten years ago, sweetheart."

She reached out as if to touch his face, but didn't.  "You've changed."

"Grown more handsome, no doubt."

"No...that's not it."

"Oh, thank you"  He pushed her onto her back, rolling onto his side to hover over her.  She laughed, but her eyes were serious as she looked at him.

"It's maturity, I suppose."

He winced.  "Getting old."

"I do think you might live to see 'old' now.  I didn't before."

"You might have thought differently last night."  Quick reflexes and the ability to understand each other instantly were all that had saved them.  He quashed a sudden, overwhelming longing for Doyle.

"That's your job.  But this.... You've got something to live for now, haven't you?"

He looked away, and hid it by kissing her shoulder.

"Does he know?"

"Inger."

"Is he straight?"

He sighed.  "Not exactly."

"I knew it!"  She sounded gleeful.

He groaned and lay back on the bed.

She sat up, grinning.  "After all these years.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"It's not a done deal, you know.  He does have a mind of his own."

"Against your charm?"  She leaned over and kissed him quickly.  "He hasn't got a chance."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"You usually do."  She shook her head, something like wonder on her face.  "But all that arrogance disappears when it matters, doesn't it?"  She pushed against his arm.  "Go on, we might as well get up.  You can tell me all about it over coffee."

"No, Miss Nosey Parker.  I am going to take a shower.  Get your own love life to analyse."

"Yours is much more interesting.  Go on, get going."

He struggled out of the bed.  "Pushy."

She climbed out as well.  "Of course.  I'm a teacher."  She walked towards the wardrobe, but paused a moment to look at him, her head tilting.  "It will be all right."

"Will it?"

A slight smile appeared on her face, and she patted his arm.  "You haven't seen how he looks at you."  She moved on to the wardrobe.

"How does he look at me?"

"Go and take your shower, then we'll talk.  Here."  She flung a white bathrobe at him.  "You'd better leave me some hot water!"

He caught the robe and retreated to the bathroom.  The shower was welcome, and he let the water pour over him.  His muscles ached from the chase, and the adrenaline, and the almost paralysing fear he'd felt.  He'd got the call on his radio: Doyle had spotted O'Reilly and was following him on foot; he was to catch up with him.  A backup team was being readied.  Kevin O'Reilly shouldn't have been been able to get into the country.  But worse than that, O'Reilly knew Doyle.  Bodie had searched the area of Doyle's last transmission, increasingly worried when he'd found nothing.  It had been too dangerous to try bleeping Doyle.  Finally, he'd heard gunfire, and he'd headed into a warehouse lit only by security lighting.

Bodie leaned one hand on the shower wall while he ducked his head and neck under the water.  He remembered the strange, overall quiet of the warehouse, punctuated by sudden bursts of noise.  It was the sound of men hunting one another.  He'd found the body of one man near the door.  He'd gone deeper into the warehouse, playing the game of cat and mouse—but he hadn't known which he was.  And there had been no way to warn Doyle he was there.  He'd come across them quite suddenly.

Bodie closed his eyes and watched it unfold again: Doyle taking out another man; O'Reilly catching an off-balance Doyle in his sights; Bodie shouting as he'd pulled the trigger.  Doyle had dropped to the floor, and Bodie's bullet had passed over him and struck O'Reilly in the chest.  Doyle had quickly checked O'Reilly while Bodie walked forward, and when Doyle had turned towards him, Bodie had been unable to suppress a grin at the expression on his face.  But then the expression had changed, and in that instant, Bodie had ducked and rolled.  Gunfire had erupted all around him, sending his heart into his throat.  It had been over within seconds.  He'd lifted his head to find Doyle staring at him, arms still locked in firing position; still on his knees.  Bodie hadn't been able to breathe as their eyes met, and it hit him: partner, lover, mate.  It was that simple—and that complicated.  And it was for-bloody-ever.

In the shower, Bodie opened his eyes.  He'd known it that night at Doyle's flat—after Van Neikerk, when Doyle had let him in again.  He'd known it the moment he'd touched him.  Forever.   Doyle was all he wanted.  The only person he'd ever wanted to spend his life with.  Bloody, ratty, idealistic, stubborn Doyle.  Doyle, who had been out with a new bird when he'd spotted O'Reilly.  Doyle, who trusted Bodie with his life, but not his lifetime.

Bodie switched off the shower and towelled dry before he slipped on the bathrobe.  Inger was waiting for him outside the bathroom.  He raised his eyebrows.  "You didn't come in?"

Her smile was lopsided.  "You're not mine any more."

He took her into his arms and swayed with her.  "Since when?"

"I rather suspect since you entered CI5."

"Nah, couldn't stand him at first."

She leaned her forehead on his shoulder.  "Do you ever think of getting out?  Your job...." She trailed off, but he knew her thoughts.

He was quiet for a moment, and then he pulled her closer.  "Maybe.  Sometimes."  He lowered his voice to a whisper: "If I could convince him."

"Oh, Bodie."

He held her tighter, and she must have understood, because she didn't try to break away or to speak.  Finally, he was the one who let go.  "Your shower awaits."

She nodded, kissed him on the cheek, and disappeared into the bathroom.  He headed for the kitchen, suddenly ravenous.  He knew what he wanted. 

 

*****

 

They entered the CI5 car park on their way to intercept the mules at Heathrow.  Doyle stopped, so suddenly that Bodie had to step sideways to keep from crashing into him.  "Oi!  Cowley said—oh."  Bodie looked over Doyle's shoulder.  "Well, well, the lost is found, eh?"

Doyle glanced at him, and gestured with his thumb.  "That's my car."

"Yes. I barely recognise it."

Doyle smiled.  "I'll drive."  He led the way towards his car.

"What if it's a mirage?"

Doyle patted the boot.  "Feels real enough."  He moved around to the driver's side.

"Ray."  Sudden fear made his voice sharp.

Doyle looked at him, frowning.

"Where's it been?"  Bodie ran an assessing eye over the car.  They made great incendiary devices, cars did.

"Relax.  Debbie had it."  He unlocked the door.

"Debbie?"  Bodie climbed into the car.

Doyle shut his door.  "Debbie."  He started the motor.  "She loves a good joke—and it turns out she can hot wire a car."  He grinned.

"Joke, eh?"  Dammit, Doyle was...glowing.

Doyle drove out of the car park.  "Yeah.  You'd like her.  Listen, she's got this flatmate—typist at the MoD.  They're both fun—lots of laughs.  I was thinking...."

Bodie settled back in his seat and let Doyle natter on.  He'd double-date if he had to.  He'd play the lad—best mates.  He'd take Doyle to bed—or be taken.  But he was hunting in earnest now.  He'd set out before to seduce Doyle, and succeeded.  This time, though...this time, he was wagering more, and playing for keeps.  _It's just sex._   Bodie smiled.  Like hell.


	42. Coda to Hijack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter written by "Betty"--Guest Writer Extraordinaire!_

Somewhere along the way, Bodie had learned the essential truth about hangovers. They come in two parts. One is caused by liquor. The other is caused by the things one regrets having said and done. Bodie knew he was lucky. This morning's hangover was purely physical.

Even so, Bodie winced as he rinsed the last of the shaving soap off his face and thanked god for his nice quiet safety razor. A buzz box like Doyle's would probably make his head pop like a balloon, his hangover was so bad.

Typical, to get a hangover of this magnitude only a few days since he'd put himself on the sick list to spoil Doyle's date with the versatile Debbie. Not that it had worked, mind. It hadn't taken Doyle more than a glance to see right through him. Doyle knew Bodie had called in sick, Bodie was sure of it. If he'd had any doubts, Doyle's sudden burst of unscrupulousness over the Mastermind board would have confirmed it. Not like him to cheat, but clearly the lovely Debbie brought out the worst in Doyle's character. Bodie couldn't blame him.

Good looking bird, that one. Something about her had put him in mind of old photos of his mother, with that dark hair, the roses in cream complexion, and those deep blue eyes. All that and money in the background as well. She was much too good for Doyle. Bodie was just doing her a favour, really. And what did he get for his pains? Hung over.

Bodie inspected himself in the mirror one last time and shuddered as he turned away. Eyes like pickled beets. He couldn't call in sick for a hangover—that would make him drink dependent. Which was unthinkable, as it would interfere with his drinking.

So, the hangover was a necessary evil. They'd had to give 7.1 a proper send off, hadn't they? Killed in the line of duty, the public record would say. CI5's records were more precise. Strangled and stuffed in an airing cupboard at the Hotel Hardy, the dozy git. Bodie winced as he bent over to tie his shoes. May his family never learn the ugly details.

The thought made Bodie's stomach roll over uneasily. He finished dressing and went in search of a bacon sandwich. Kill or cure, that was Bodie's hangover philosophy. The way he felt this morning, he didn't much care which it was going to be.

 

*****

 

"All right, mate?" Doyle slid into the passenger seat of the Capri. "You look sick as a parrot."

Bodie tried for his primmest tone. "I don't know what you mean."

"'Course you don't." Doyle chuckled evilly. "Hung over, eh? Poetic justice."

"It's never nice to gloat, Raymond." Bodie took a closer look at his partner. "What about you?"

"Me?" Doyle was all innocence.

"Thought you only left the party early so you and the fair Deborah could have another—meeting of minds."

"Oh, yeah. That." Doyle looked uncomfortable. "Turns out our minds have met for the last time."

The cogs of Bodie's brain, only partially restored to working order by the bacon sandwich, moved slowly into action."Eh? What's that supposed to mean?"

Doyle grimaced. "You know what it means."

"She dumped you?" Bodie whistled softly. "That was quick."

"Saved me a hangover, though." Doyle's laughter was bitter. "By the time Debbie finished telling me how we've ruined Mandy's life, I decided I was ready for an early night. All for the best, really. On the way home I stopped in at Sainsbury's and bumped into Claire, of all people. I'm thinking of ringing her up."

"Hang about." Bodie refused to let himself be distracted by Doyle's social life. "We ruined Mandy's life? We saved her life. Once each, come to think of it."

"That's not the way Mandy explained it to Debbie. It was a case of her best friend or me and Debbie didn't choose me." Doyle added, "Can't say I blame her."

"What's Mandy got against you?" Bodie demanded.  "Apart from saving her life, of course."

"For one thing, I tried to tell her the truth about Harry Walter. Waste of time. According to Mandy, Harry Walter is her oldest, dearest friend, a rough diamond mistreated by the establishment. You and I are heartless, soulless killers, by the way." Doyle kept his tone light, but Bodie recognised the anger beneath his words.

"Well, she's not wrong about me." Bodie thought it over. "Christ, what sort of hold does Walter have on her, anyway? He played her like a tin whistle and she still hasn't seen through him. She must be simple."

"Yeah. That's what I thought. I asked Debbie for the background. It seems her father died when Mandy was about fourteen. He left Mandy and her mother with nothing but a load of debts."  Doyle's tone sharpened. "Now I think of it, the whole story makes me wonder just what sort of business Mandy's dear old dad was in."

"You're all charm, aren't you?" Bodie shook his head.

"Anyway, the sadly misunderstood Harry Walter was her dad's business partner. He came to the rescue, probably on one of those adjustable-speed racehorses of his. According to Mandy, he's Father Christmas and Old King Cole, all in one. He wouldn't harm a hair on her head."

"No, he wouldn't, so long as there was a reasonably priced hitman about to do it for him," Bodie agreed. "That falling plaster must have scrambled her brains."

"It's not her brains I worry about," Doyle growled. "It's her heart. That was the other thing Mandy has against us, catching Merhart. Debbie says Mandy really loved him, poor kid."

"Did she?" Bodie didn't try to keep the chill out of his voice. "Sure it wasn't his silver lining she was in love with?"

"All she knew about the heist was what she read in the paper after the fact. Merhart loved her, the poor daft bastard, and it looks like she loved him back."

"Just not quite enough to run away with him unless he had a bit of cash to smooth the way." Bodie shook his head. "He's sent to a firing squad and she's lost nothing but her security clearance. Not exactly Romeo and Juliet, are they?"

"Maybe not." After a moment, Doyle added, so softly Bodie hardly caught the words, "Then again, who is?"

"Then again," Bodie couldn't help retorting, "who wants to be? Pair of suicidal plonkers."

Doyle's offended silence lasted the rest of the way in to HQ.

 

*****

 

Doyle headed for the coffee machine while Bodie staked out places for them at the briefing.  The moment he took his first long look around the briefing room, Bodie felt more at ease. Signs of last night's memorial booze-up were everywhere if you knew to look for them.  Lucas and McCabe, both wan and uncharacteristically silent, seemed to be wishing for death. Anson just slumped in his chair, looking even worse than Bodie felt. Murphy, green around the gills, was in the corner by the window, buttoned up like a banker in a good suit and and a better tie. Only Liz and Julie, together in the corner nearby, looked their usual crisp selves.

Bodie caught a few words of Liz and Julie's muttered conversation and edged near, the better to overhear them.

"Murphy's back in his usual rig, thank god." Julie's tone was caustic enough that Bodie revised his verdict. She was definitely hung over. "Something very off-putting about him wearing tight jeans and a denim jacket."

"And riding a motorcycle," Liz agreed. "It's weird."

"The motorcycle was essential equipment for the tail on Merhart," Julie said. "I heard him tell the Cow so."

"It doesn't suit him." Liz stole another glance at Murphy. "We'll have to give him the word. He can play Boy Racer on special occasions, but wearing denim is simply not on."

"Right." Julie's gaze followed Liz's and her expression softened. "That lad needs to listen to his tailor. He's the only bloke here with any hope at all for personal style."

Chilled by his understanding of what had puzzled them, Bodie looked at Murphy. Alert to the attention he'd been getting from Julie and Liz, Murphy threw Bodie a challenging look back.

Bodie hadn't seen Murphy on a motorcycle, but he'd noted the jeans. Noted it and approved, without ever consciously realizing why he did so. He wondered if that was why Murphy had gone back to the suits and ties—because he'd realized he was dressing like Doyle.

Murphy arched an eyebrow at Bodie. One corner of his mouth quirked up.

That knowing little smile made Bodie revise his calculations. Had Murph done it deliberately? Had he gone back to his usual style of dress only because he knew it suited him even better?

Both corners of Murphy's mouth were quirked now, his amusement at Bodie's continued interest plain.

Regret at what he had done with that mouth came surging back. That was the thing with hangovers. Regret had no expiration date. Bodie gave Murphy a look calculated to put him in his place. It had worked on him in the pub with Gerda and the rest. Now it did the job again. Abruptly Murphy turned his full attention to the nearest window, apparently fascinated by a moulting pigeon perched on the sill outside.

"Oi, you." Doyle's voice in his ear—and Doyle's elbow in his ribs—refocused Bodie's attention. "Look alive."

Bodie turned to accept his beaker of bad coffee. There he was. The original. Raymond Doyle, wearing the white linen sports jacket he fondly believed could be mistaken for a Versace, over a t-shirt too tight even for him, and designer jeans good for one more spin through the laundry. One spin, but probably not two.

Interest piqued by Bodie's changed mood, Doyle's eyes widened. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Something I'd thought I'd sorted," Bodie replied. "It's been taken care of."

"What, just now?" Doyle looked around the room with interest. "What was it?"

"I said it's sorted. Forget about it." Bodie gave Doyle the same discouraging look, full-strength and hangover-powered.

Doyle took no notice. "What was it?"

Cowley entered. Every agent in the room focussed on the Controller as the briefing began.

Saved, Bodie thought. He was rescued from further interrogation by Cowley's fusillade of names and dates, people and places. Bodie was grateful for the reprieve. He was in no mood to explain anything to anyone, let alone Doyle. How could he? He was not entirely sure he understood anything himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, "Betty", for the pinch-hit!


	43. Coda to Mixed Doubles

They had been responsible for the security of venue two, so they were the ones who stayed right to the end.  Parsali had been whisked away by helicopter, followed by the diplomats, the representatives, the outside security personnel, and Cowley.  Now Doyle watched as the last of the clean up team left. The bodies had been taken away, the evidence bagged, photographs collected.  Finally, he and Bodie could head back to London.  The job was over—a job well done, according to Cowley.  But Doyle knew it had come down to the quickness of trained reflexes.  Macklin's fear—and consequent training techniques—had paid off for them.

Doyle walked back into the house, wondering where Bodie had disappeared to.  Their bags were already in the car, and he was ready for a little celebrating.  "Oi!  Where the fuck are you?"

"Making one last check of the attic!"  Bodie's shout came from upstairs.

"Should have thought of that last night!"  Doyle leaned against the table next to the stairs, and folded his arms.  They should have checked the attic themselves. They'd relied on others, and it had nearly cost them everything.  Callard's machine wouldn't have helped—no one had thought to put a beam on the attic door.  Slack, Macklin would have said, and he would have been right.  They'd survived it, however—and they might even get the two-week leave Cowley had promised them.

He looked around as he heard Bodie descending the stairs.  "You reckon Cowley will keep his word?"

"About what?"  Bodie left the stairs and turned towards Doyle.  His suit jacket was unbuttoned revealing his gun and holster.  His tie had been discarded long ago, but he'd only undone one button on his shirt.  He looked tired and distant—just as he had ever since the firefight.

"Our leave."

Bodie shrugged.  "Maybe.  You ready?"

Doyle surveyed him and tried a smile.  "I've been ready for days."

For a moment, he didn't think Bodie would rise to the bait, and his stomach tightened.  But then a small grin appeared, and Bodie shook his head.  "You were too knackered to be ready."

"Revved up—like a fine motor."

"Stripped down—like a wreck.  I was there, you know."

"You were there last night, too."  Doyle tilted his head.  "You turned me down."

The grin disappeared.  "A last fuck before we died?  I didn't want the drama, Doyle."

"It wasn't—"

"Wasn't it?  You were hitting all the marks: A few thing you wish you'd said to Claire; checking on wills and letters.  It's bad—"

"Medicine.  Yeah, I remember.  All the more reason for us to celebrate tonight."

"What about Claire?"

He hadn't thought about her, and he scrambled for an answer.  "She's on nights."

"That was last week."

"Look, we can go to that pub, eh?  The one where we—"

"Met the men we just killed?"

Doyle narrowed his eyes.  "Are you going to ask me for tea next? Like you did last night?"

"It was good tea."  Bodie's face was as bland as his tone.

"You liked him, didn't you?"

"Who?" 

Doyle jerked his head towards the stairs.

"Yeah—until he came down the stairs."  An edge had appeared in Bodie's voice.

"Recognising him gave you the advantage.  You drew first."

Bodie looked down.  "Maybe."

"No maybe about it.  You knew he didn't belong."  Doyle studied Bodie's closed face.  "It's not like you to have regrets."

Bodie turned away.  "I don't."

"They were hired killers."

"And we aren't?"

"Not like—"

"Where's the difference?"  Bodie turned again to face him.  "Same pub, same fight—they probably spent last night talking, just like—"

"They were after a kill, mate.  Hired mer—"

"—cenaries."  Bodie nodded.  "Like," he hesitated, "friends of mine."

"That's not what you're thinking."

Bodie's eyes were hard as they met his.  "Like me."

Doyle shook his head once.  "Not any more."

"I told you I joined for the money."

"Maybe. But why do you stay?"

Bodie shut his mouth and looked away.

"You saw something of yourself in him, is that it?"

Bodie didn't say anything, but Doyle easily read the tension in his body.

"They used dum-dums."

"I would have."

"You thought about it.  You chose not to."

"Dammit, Doyle!"  Bodie moved closer, crowding him against the table.  "I was—"  He broke off.  "Dead is dead.  Do you think it mattered to them?"

"It matters to me.  The method matters."

"The ends don't justify the means."  Bodie's tone was withering.

"It's a thin line, yeah, but—"

"But nothing.  Open your eyes!  You said the line was too thin in Drugs.  Do you really think Cowley wouldn't use whatever means were necessary?"

"Okay.  He might.  But it matters to him.  He'd have a damn good reason."  Doyle pushed away from the table, forcing Bodie back a step.  "And we always have a choice, you and I, regardless of Cowley."  He moved towards the staircase.

"A choice."  Bodie followed him.  "And what if you make the wrong choice?"

Doyle turned to find Bodie very close to him.  "Then you live with the consequences."

"That line is bloody thin sometimes."

He held Bodie's gaze.  "Yeah."

"Do you know how fucking close I came to ending up—?"

Doyle kissed him, taking his words into his mouth.

Bodie pulled away.  "Opposite sides, Doyle.  It could have been."

And he had a sudden image of Bodie walking down those stairs, reaching for his gun.  "It didn't happen."

Bodie put a hand on Doyle's damaged cheek.  "One wrong choice."  Bodie whispered the words.

"No. I won't let it happen."  He closed his eyes as Bodie's mouth captured his.  He was expecting the aggression—an outlet for the odd anger Bodie seemed to have in him in the wake of the op.  And yet...Bodie pressed him against the railing, but Doyle wasn't trapped.  Bodie's tongue invaded his mouth, but it coaxed a response.  It was the same tenderness as that night after the Van Neikerk op, and it cut through his defences like a blade to his heart.  He wanted a quick fuck, not....  But his only protest came when buttons flew as Bodie pulled open Doyle's shirt.  He wrenched his mouth away from Bodie's.  "Dammit.  That was new—"  He broke off as Bodie bit, then teased his nipple.  His head jerked back against the bannister as sensation ripped through him.

"Oh, yeah, you're on the boil, aren't you?"  Bodie's hand released Doyle's cock, sliding along it's length.  "Helpless with it."

"Bodie."  The name came out with less force than he had intended.  He was already close, arousal roaring through his body.  It hit like that sometimes after an op—after a killing.  It was a part of the job he didn't like to talk about.  "Damn you."  He thrust into Bodie's firm grip.

"We're all the same, Doyle.  Even you.  We're all—"

"No."  He pushed forward enough to free his hands, and he framed Bodie's face.  "No.  We choose."  He brought Bodie's mouth to his and plunged into him, even as his cock surged in Bodie's hand.  Yet he pulled back enough to say: "You made your choice long ago."  Bodie pressed forward, opening his mouth, begging for Doyle's possession. And Doyle was lost after that, caught up in the explosion of a fast and violent release.  Gradually, he became aware that Bodie's mouth was soft against his, easing him down.  He pulled away, and leaned into Bodie's shoulder—held steady by Bodie's hard arm around him.

"Ray."  Bodie's voice was a ragged in his ear, and there was an uncertainty to it that caught him in the throat.  Aggression and tenderness in Bodie's kiss; subterfuge and revelation in his words.  Doyle could count on one hand the number of conversations they'd had like the one last night.  Maybe there was more to Bodie's anger than being reminded of the past—and more to the fear he sensed underneath it.

He raised his head and gave Bodie a quick kiss while he unzipped Bodie's trousers.  He felt the heat and hardness behind the metal teeth of the zip.  "Come on."  He pushed his own trousers down, turned, and grasped the bannister.  He shivered when Bodie's hand touched his shoulder, then slid to his arse.  "Do it."

"Do I have a choice?"  He heard laughter now in Bodie's voice.

"If you're willing to live with the—aah."  He groaned as Bodie pushed into him.  There was pain, but he wanted it, and sensation twisted through him like lava.  He could trace the trail it made.

"Consequences?"  Bodie was panting.

"You shouldn't have made me come.  Would've been—"  His breath caught as Bodie hit a sensitive spot.

"Dunno.  Might...make you come again.  All that protein Macklin fed you...paying off."    Suddenly, Bodie gasped.  "Ah, Christ."

Doyle grinned and shoved back again, grinding into Bodie.  "Consequences for being cocky."  And Doyle laughed.

Bodie groaned, his hands clamping on Doyle.  "Bastard."

"Mercenary."  He said it deliberately, and was prepared for Bodie's sudden stillness.

Doyle loosened his hold on the rail, and covered one of Bodie's hands with his own.  "Let it out.  Come on.  All of it."  Bodie started to thrust in rhythm with his words, his breath hot on Doyle's neck.  "That's right.  That's right.  One—bloody—right choice."

"I didn't...join...for your reasons."

Doyle gripped Bodie's hand.  "You're not him."  He grunted as Bodie pushed into him.

"You'd've...killed—"

"You're not the same as them.  We're not."

"We get off on—"  Bodie's thrusts came faster, and heat poured off him.  The hand under Doyle's was slick with sweat and semen.  Bodie cried out as he pushed deep within Doyle, then held himself still, as if they were on the edge of a precipice.

"Only with you."  Doyle whispered the words.  He felt Bodie's release, even as his teeth closed on Doyle's shoulder.  Pleasure and pain intermingled, twining into one. Just as together they made their choices—day-by-day on a thin, thin line between good and evil.  Bodie was plastered against him, and Doyle held his weight until finally Bodie stirred.  Doyle turned, then eased them both to the floor, their backs against the stair wall.  He patted Bodie's knee, and wondered vaguely when he'd taken his trousers off.  "Better?"

"I'll tell you when I know I'm alive."  Bodie leaned against his shoulder.

Doyle nodded.  "Then you can tell me the real reason you joined CI5."

"Disbelieving bugger.  I told you.

"We're not paid that well."

"Do you have any idea what the going rate is for a mercenary?"

"No."

"Not to mention the car.  And the flat."

"It beats a tent, I'll grant you that."

"Whoever had a tent?"

"Yeah, well."  Doyle sighed.  "Maybe you're the sane one.  That peace accord we saved today won't last six months."

Bodie swatted him.  "That's my line. You're the one with illusions."

Doyle rubbed the leg under his hand.  "Your fell influence."

"Tit for tat."

"Are you finished brooding?  Can we go home now?"  He pinched Bodie.

"Ouch. Don't add to my bruises."  Bodie groaned as he climbed to his feet.  "And if I was brooding then that was your influence."

Doyle grinned as he pulled up his trousers.  "Reflection is good for the soul."

"Yeah?  Why'd you stop me, then?"

"Sex is better."   He frowned at the condition of his shirt.

"Shall I buy you another?"  Bodie was close, and he cupped Doyle's face with his hand.  His thumb brushed across his cheek.  "You know why I stay."  His voice was low.

Doyle looked down, then closed his eyes briefly when Bodie kissed his forehead.

Bodie said nothing more, just turned and headed for the door.  Doyle followed.  Some fears they shared, or brought to the light to deal with.  Others were best left alone.

_You scared?_

Yeah.  You?

Yeah.  All the time.


	44. Coda to Weekend in the Country

Doyle was awake before Bodie touched his arm.  He raised his head and saw they'd stopped in a layby.  It must be time to switch over.  Doyle glanced at Bodie, but could see nothing of his expression in the dark.  Liz was snoring softly in the back seat.  He patted Bodie on the leg, stretched the kink out of his neck, and opened the car door.  Bodie met him halfway around the back of the car.

"Where are we?"  It was chilly, and a few drops of rain spattered down on him.

"Near Bletchley." Bodie sounded tired, more drained than the car ride and a sleepless night should have made him.

"All right?"  He stretched a hand towards Bodie's bruised face.  "Headache?"

Bodie caught his hand, held it a moment, then turned it to brush his thumb across the back of Doyle's fingers.  "I'm fine.  Just need to kip."

"You could curl up with Liz in the back."

Bodie released his hand.  "Let's go home."

Doyle settled into the driver's seat.  He drove the car onto the road while Bodie leaned against the door and became nothing but a dark lump beside him.  Cowley and Sally had gone back to London in the helicopter that had brought them.  Doyle and Bodie had contemplated the train, and agreed a hire car would be better, if more expensive.  They were expected back at HQ by the morning.  Judy had decided to stay an extra week with her family.

"They need me," Judy had told him, but she hadn't met his eyes.  He'd said it was a good idea. Later, he'd pulled Mrs Shaw aside and had told her to keep an eye on her daughter.  Judy had shut down during captivity—literally turning to silence and obedience . It wasn't an uncommon reaction, but the sense of powerlessness could cause problems long after the initial trauma.  He couldn't blame her.  Shutting up and doing as you were told was sensible in a hostage situation.  Bodie, for one, could learn from that. But he remembered her fear, and the look she'd given Case when Doyle had asked her to get bandages and hot water for Vince's wound. She'd played it safe, but she'd lost something of herself in the process.

Liz, on the other hand, had an essential toughness to her that had seen her through.  Officer material.  Whatever characteristic it was that led people to a career in the forces—or CI5—she shared it.  They hadn't known her very well before Judy had put together this weekend away.  There had been a single double-date a week before, and she and Bodie had seemed to hit it off well enough.  Bodie had said nothing to him, but he'd agreed to join in on the weekend plan.  He wondered if Bodie planned to see her again when they were back in London.

The rain fell harder and Doyle switched on the wipers.  Beside him, Bodie shifted in his seat, then sighed.  Doyle glanced at him.  "Thought you needed sleep."

"Yeah, well, you're thinking too loudly." Bodie's voice was soft, blending with the rain.

"Oh, sorry."

"Judy?"

"She'll not want anything more to do with me."  He'd remind her of the ordeal.  And she'd been shocked by his violence, even though it had been necessary—as shocked as Ann had been.

"Does it bother you?"

"No."  It was an oddly freeing thought, and he wondered if he should feel guilty for it.  He'd liked Judy, but he hadn't been in love with her.  And he had no desire to try and fit in her world.  CI5 was where he belonged.

"Well, that's fortunate."

He didn't need light to tell him there was mischief in Bodie's face.  "Why?"

"Did you notice that young copper?  Came up with the lot from the village?"

"Dukes?"

"That's the one."

Doyle thought about it.  "He did look a little…."

"Love sick?"

"Concerned, I was going to say."

"Yeah, well, I believe he's going to cut you out, mate."  Bodie's amusement was obvious.

"Gosh thanks."  Dukes was fresh-faced, fair-haired, earnest and hard working.  He'd never rise above the provincial job he so obviously enjoyed.  Yet he was a good, solid copper, and Doyle rather thought he'd suit Judy perfectly.  She'd had no idea about Doyle's life, although she worked in Defence.

"Most of them don't want to know what we do."  He was no longer surprised Bodie would follow his thoughts.

"They don't need to know. This was enough of a taste for them." In his world, Case and his men were small fry.  What would the Shaws or Liz have done faced with someone like Van Neikerk?  "We're a buffer—just like Cowley says."

"Guarding the illusion of roses and lavender?"

"Long may they have it."

"Yeah." Bodie's tone was sombre.  They both knew how easily it could have gone pear shaped.  For all their threats and violence, Case and his gang were relatively civilised. "Cowley was pleased with us."  Bodie sounded faintly surprised, and Doyle smiled.

"We didn't do anything stupid. We kept the civilians safe."  They could have broken the gang earlier, but not without endangering the others.

Cowley hadn't asked about Bodie's bruises.  If he had, he might have sent them back to Macklin.  If Bodie had gone for Georgie when Liz cried out, rather than the stairs, they might have made it.  But Doyle hadn't been able to get to Case quickly enough, and Georgie had chased after Bodie.  The opportunity had been lost, yet it had done some good. "You know, Case settled down a bit after we made our move, and they stopped it."

"Like a pressure cooker letting steam out, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Oh well, good plan, then."

"So there was a plan, was there?"

Bodie sighed. "Look, Doyle—"

"Bodie."  He put his hand on Bodie's leg, gripping it gently.  "That's you."  Bodie had reacted instinctively to Liz's cry for protection, despite years of training.  Doyle felt the tension in the leg under his fingers.  "I wouldn't have it any other way."  And he realised it was true.  Bodie protected those he cared for.  If it was too late, he sought retribution: the girl Krivas had killed; Claire, injured by the bomb meant for Forrester; Williams and his girlfriend. For each one, Bodie had felt a sense of responsibility, and for each one he had acted as his own honour demanded. Perhaps it had started in Africa, with Brennan's death, and the need to make Kozyar pay for it.  Wherever it had started, it was as much a part of Bodie as his black humour, ingenuity, and integrity.  He'd proven he'd pay the cost for it, even if the price was Doyle's trust.

When Liz had cried out, Doyle had moved as quickly as Bodie, knowing exactly what Bodie would do.  The pattern was set—protection and retribution.  If Vince had raped Liz, he'd be dead now—or Bodie would be.  It was a simple equation: an eye for an eye.  Kozyar, Krivas, King Billy—Doyle's breath caught, and he straightened in his seat.  Bodie had made sure Kozyar had died, but he'd let King Billy live; he'd let Krivas live.  The pattern had shifted in CI5.  In his head, Doyle heard Bodie's voice: _It wasn't just Cowley's gun, or Cheryl agreeing to testify that made me stop.  It was you being there._

Doyle had been there with Krivas, too.  And he'd been there for Forrester, and even Case and his gang.

_One wrong choice._

_No. I won't let it happen._

"Ray?"

He jerked his hand away from Bodie's leg, only then realising he'd tightened his grip.  "Yeah. Sorry."  He blinked at the oncoming headlamps, concentrated on the road.  Dammit, he hadn't seen it.  Oh, he knew Bodie had changed in some ways—expected it of him, despite their debates about dum-dums and being like Tommy McKay. But that drive to protect, and the need for retribution was essential to Bodie.  After Krivas, Doyle had come to understand that.  Which was why it had hurt so much when Bodie hadn't trusted him with Forrester or King Billy.  And blinded by anger, he'd missed the essential point: Bodie hadn't killed.  He wasn't the same man who'd gone back for Kozyar.

_You know why I stay._

Something twisted around his heart, so sharp that he nearly cried out.  Ann had told him: You're exactly what you are. She'd implied he couldn't change, not in essence.  He'd thought the same of Bodie.  He hadn't blamed Bodie once he'd realised his mistake—the impossible expectations he'd had.  Grounding himself in reality had allowed him to retain the partnership, and the relationship that meant everything to him.  He'd faced the bitter truth: Bodie would protect him even to the point of shutting him out and going in alone to die; Bodie would leave him—through choice or death.  But now the ground was shifting under his feet, like an earthquake that shattered rock.  Bodie no longer followed a scorched earth policy.

"What is it?"  The humour was gone from Bodie's voice.

Doyle gripped the steering wheel.  Liz was in the back seat, and he found he was grateful for that.  Stay cool, he had to stay cool.  "Nothing.  I'm just, uh, contemplating my future career path."

He felt Bodie's eyes on him, but he didn't turn his head.  "What, you mean as butcher?"

"They reckoned I'd saved his life, digging that bullet out."

"More like added to his blood loss.  I grant you it worked a treat to pass the time."

"You nobbled the car, I nobbled Case."

"Ah, partnership. It's a beautiful thing."

His face felt tight when he smiled.  "Yeah. It is."

He was relieved when Bodie settled back against the door as if to sleep again. What had Bodie said in the pub carpark that night?  _You come after me.  I stay for you._   He hadn't believed him.  But then, he'd thought Bodie would kill King Billy.  Doyle drove on through the night.  The car was silent, but the rhythm of the rain echoed the refrain beating in his head: What if Bodie stayed?


	45. Coda to Kickback

The door to his hospital room opened, and Keller looked up to see Doyle having a word with the copper stationed there. It wasn’t surprising—CI5 had a reputation for being efficient. Mr Cowley would want to tidy up any loose ends. They’d all want to know why, how he could have changed so much. He had wondered if Bodie would come to see him—officially or not. _Yes. Talk later._ But it was hardly surprising Cowley had sent Doyle. Bodie was ‘involved,’ as they’d say. They didn’t know the half of it.

“Doyle.” He watched as Doyle walked towards him, snagging a chair and setting it by the bed.

Doyle nodded, but said nothing as he sat in the chair.

Keller took the opportunity to study him, curious about the man who had worked so long with Bodie—longer than he had. His face was odd—unbalanced, and Keller suspected he had a plate in his cheek. Had it been an accident or a beating that had scarred him? Doyle wasn’t up to Bodie’s weight, but he moved with an assured grace, and had to be able to handle himself to be in Cowley’s mob. _He’s good. The best._ Bodie had told him that, but little else. It was Doyle’s eyes that held his attention—green, intelligent, and very cool. Keller raised his chin and his eyebrows, and waited for Doyle to break the silence.

“Mr Cowley has a few questions for you.”

“Then where is he?”

“Talking to your girlfriend.”

“She doesn’t know anything.”

“Then she won’t tell him anything.”

“You’ll turn her over to Interpol.”

“She’s certainly wanted by them.” Doyle tilted his head. “Fell for her hard, did you?”

Keller shrugged. “She kept the bed warm.” She’d been grateful to him, perhaps even loved him in her own way. He’d given her what he could, but he’d had little left to give. He looked at Doyle, and heard anther voice in his head: No. Not any more.

“Easy come, easy go, eh?”

“Better that way, isn’t it?”

Doyle folded his arms. “How long did you have this planned? Was she the reason you decided to get out?”

Keller let a smile cross his face. “Why would I tell you?”

Doyle shrugged. “No reason not to.”

“Think what you like, then. Anything else?”

“Where were you during the Bayswater bombings?”

Keller shook his head. “You won’t pin that on me. I told Bodie. I was out of the country.”

“With Sheila Kaufmann?”

“Yes.”

“It’s funny, that—she said she was in England a month ago.”

“She was—after the bombings.”

Doyle’s eyebrows rose. “We will check.”

“Be my guest.” Keller looked at him mockingly. “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to get that wrong?”

“You tried to steal half a million pounds from the PLA. How intelligent was that?”

“I nearly made it.”

“They found you, in case you’ve forgotten, despite the fire. You’d be dead, if it wasn’t for Bodie.”

“He’d be dead if it wasn’t for me. Twice.”

Doyle glanced away, then back. “Care about him, do you?” He unfolded his arms.

“We served together.”

“Yet you coshed him over the head. Never offered him any of the money, either.”

Keller snorted. “Bodie? If money was his motivation, he wouldn’t be where he is.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it’d be yours—SAS, special ops. It’s not the profile of a thief.”

Keller shrugged again. “I got tired of never getting any of the perks.”

“All that training and this was the best plan you could come up with?”

“I had to improvise after you and Bodie cocked it up for me.”

“Rather convenient that it was Bodie on the raid. He didn’t shoot you, he fitted in with your plans. He’s very like you—believes in old loyalties.”

“Are you insinuating…?”

“He was at the farmhouse with you and Sheila.”

Keller laughed. “My God, you are. Oh, this is rich. So Bodie was in on it, was he?”

“According to Kaufmann.”

“Ah! Making mischief, is she? She didn’t take to Bodie at all. His fault.” He eyed Doyle. “And you actually believed her. The poor sod.”

“Mr Cowley keeps his doorstep clean.”

“And you do his dirty work. Don’t know your partner very well, do you? Ah, loyalty. Where would we be without it, eh?”

“Ask Pietro Compagni.”

It took him a moment before he knew his voice wouldn’t shake. “Who?”

“Compagni was killed by the PLA five months ago. He was tortured.”

Five months, twenty-two days ago. “Was he?” He shifted on the bed. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“Revenge—as a motive. Nairn mentioned him.”

Damn Nairn. _Stay cool_ , said a voice in his head. “Money will do me.”

“Bodie doesn’t think so.”

“Bodie’s a romantic. He’d go in for revenge—not me.”

“He says you’ve changed.”

He remembered Bodie at the farmhouse. _I leave you alone for a couple of years. What happens? You get shacked up with a half-baked terrorist groupie._

_It works for us. Nice and easy. Take it where you can—isn’t that your style?_

_Not any more._

He looked at Doyle. “And so I have.”

“You just wanted the money—settle down somewhere with your nice, terrorist bird.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you know there were explosions at the PLA’s headquarters yesterday?”

“Really?”

“There were several casualties. Add in Benedek and Donatti—the PLA is crippled.”

“Ah, well, maybe I won’t get a bullet in prison, then.”

“Yet you took one for Bodie. Twice.”

“Habit.” He gazed at Doyle. “How long have you been Bodie’s partner?”

“Four years. Give or take.”

“Four years.” He hadn’t thought it had been so long. “And you don’t trust him as far as you can throw him. Poor—”

“Sod. Yeah, you said that.”

“I told him he should come with me into special ops.”

“Tried to convince him, did you?”

“Yes, and again two years ago. I thought he’d be restless, but the fool liked what he was doing.” _Got something here I want._ “Must not have known his partner—” He broke off. _He’s good. The best._ He remembered Bodie’s expression as he’d said that.

“Two years?” Doyle frowned. “I thought—”

“Bloody hell.” Keller felt himself smile, but it was bitter. “The stupid bastard.” And suddenly he wanted to drop Bodie in it; wanted to rattle Doyle—burn them all. “He tried it on with you, didn’t he? That’s when you stopped trusting him.”

Doyle’s face was impassive, except for those strange eyes.

“Oh, yeah, you’d be an irresistible challenge.”

“You saw Bodie two years ago.”

“At a pub. Lovely reunion. Good memories.” _Take care of yourself, Jimmy._ Bodie had smiled as he’d walked out.

“You are stating that you had a sexual—”

“Oh, coming the copper now, are we? Yeah, we fucked—before. He wouldn’t then. He wanted you, didn’t he? Always did go for his partners. There’s another nail for the frame you’re building. He’s a—” He stopped suddenly, and stared at Doyle. “You’re still working with him. You didn’t go running to Cowley.” He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you really after?”

“The truth. Bodie—” Doyle paused, then continued. “Bodie says you were ambitious. And now you’re stealing money? It doesn’t add up.”

“Copper instincts.” Keller sneered the words.

“That’s right. You said it was habit, taking a bullet for Bodie. You were working with Pietro Compagni, weren’t you? Did you betray him?”

“No!”

“But he was your partner.”

The anger in him spiked. “What the fuck would you know about it? You don’t—” And then it was as if he’d been punched in the gut, as the realisation dawned. “My God. You said yes.”

There was no change in Doyle’s expression.

“All of this was a set-up. You and Bodie—”

“We just want the truth.”

“Oh, the truth. Because he can’t believe I’ve changed?”

_Not any more._

Bodie had changed, but not for him.

Keller fixed his eyes on Doyle, feeling acid in his stomach. Bodie had stayed longer in CI5 than anywhere else. He wouldn’t leave—and now Keller knew the reason why. “The truth? Well, it is an affecting tale. I’m sure Bodie will appreciate it. Pietro was with special forces in Italy. He stumbled onto me and the PLA. We worked together—unofficially because of the usual political reasons. We were also lovers—no surprise. I followed Bodie’s lead there.” He found his fist was clenched, and relaxed it. “Benedek discovered who he was. I still don’t know how.”

“Benedek didn’t know of the link with you?”

“No. They never found out. Pietro died…first.” Died for him, and a relationship Keller had thought of as convenient. “I contacted Nairn when they took him. He wouldn’t lift a bloody finger. My cover was too important.”

“So you blew it all sky high—the operation, the PLA, everything.”

He looked at Doyle. “I wanted the money. I wanted out of it.”

“You wanted revenge—scorched earth.”

“Yes! I wanted to take out every bloody one of them—Nairn as well. Special ops will be reeling from this one. I’m not sorry for any of it. We’re nothing but pawns—expendable.”

“You knew that going in. Both of you knew it.”

“You wait till it happens to you.”

Doyle was silent.

Keller laughed. “And you think it’s because I loved him. But it’s guilt, Doyle. I didn’t love him—couldn’t. Christ, isn’t it poetic? Sacrifice and guilt, the lover and the beloved—me for Bodie, Pietro for me. And bloody Bodie for you. Isn’t that right? You think I can’t read all the signs? Well, I hope he survives it better than I did—better than Pietro did. Now get out. Go and tell him why I did it. He played his role in it.”

Doyle stood, and Keller thought he saw something close to pity on his face. His stomach twisted.

“When he dies for you, Doyle, you’ll—”

“He won’t.” Doyle looked at him, and his eyes were no longer cool. “He knows he has a partner.”

“Do you really think that will save him?”

“It’ll save us.” Doyle turned and walked out of the room.

Keller rolled onto his side, away from the open door, and the guard who stood there. He closed his eyes, but they still burned.


	46. Coda to It's Only a Beautiful Picture

“Doyle!”

Bodie’s bellow nearly set Doyle off again, but he managed to control his laughter enough to get a few words out. “Ralston! That one’s with me.” He strolled up to Bodie, who was glowering. “Must be those shifty eyes of yours.”

“Just get these off me.” Bodie held out his handcuffed wrists.

“Dunno. Could do a lot with you in—” Bodie glared at him. “All right, all right. Have to find a key. Ralston!”

It took many hours, and some negotiation, before Doyle could again contemplate the joys of having Bodie to himself. Sangster and his mob were finally on their way to London—much to the displeasure of Chief Superintendent Gillespie, who still believed there must be some mistake, and was inclined to suspect Doyle’s involvement. Ralston, however, had proven there was a solid copper underneath his humourless exterior, and had worked with them. A team from CI5 was in charge at Sangster’s estate, and the locals were tracing the intertwined network of Sangster’s contacts. Doyle took a shower and changed in the police locker room, then gathered his belongings, and said his farewell to Ralston.

“Thank you, sir. Sorry about the aggro.” Doyle shook Ralston’s hand.

“You’re not. You could have made it easier on all of us.” Yet Doyle thought there was something approaching humour in Ralston’s complaint.

“It was…irresistible.”

“What was your rank?”

Doyle grinned. “Detective Constable.”

Ralston nodded. “It would be. Well, you do well in CI5—and we need CI5.”

“As much as it pains you to say it. Take care of yourself, Inspector.”

“And you.”

Doyle rode his bike to The Sangster Arms. Bodie was no where to be seen, so he went up the stairs to the room Bodie had rented. He knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Doyle opened the door. “What if I’d been— Ah.” He grinned as Bodie showed him the gun in his hand. Bodie replaced it in his holster as Doyle closed the door. “I wish Cowley had sent mine up with the team.”

“Feel naked without it?” Bodie was nearly finished filling his suitcase.

“Yeah, a bit.” Doyle sat on the chest of drawers.

“Coppers don’t wear them.”

“Don’t remind me.” Doyle studied Bodie—his tone had been unexpectedly sharp.

“Yeah, could do yourself an injury. Careless lad like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ah, you know—playing with guns, playing with matches.” Bodie placed the last of his shirts into the case.

“Oh, is that what this is all about? You told me to spike the plane. I spiked the plane.”

Bodie closed the suitcase with a snap. “Had fun, did you?”

“Yeah, a bit—seeing their faces.”

“Yeah, would’ve been really funny when you went up like a torch.” Bodie set the suitcase on the floor.

“Ah.” Doyle waved his hand. ‘I had it under—”

Bodie moved to him in two strides, and his hands clamped on Doyle’s neck and shoulders. “A spark, Doyle. A single, fucking—” He shook him.

“Gerroff!” Doyle tried to break Bodie’s hold, but Bodie didn’t budge. “It worked, didn’t it? I had it—”

“You were covered in aviation fuel. Christ, Sangster had a gun—a spark from a bullet would have done it. Or a bullet through that cloth. Anything!”

“All right! But he had you—and you weren’t helping, just standing there gobsmacked like the rest of them.” Even knowing he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but grin at the memory.

Bodie’s hands tightened. “You stupid git.” He suddenly released Doyle, stepped away, then turned back. “You really got into that role, didn’t you? Rude, obnoxious, reckless, lazy—”

“And who was sitting around having cream teas every day?” Doyle pushed himself off the chest of drawers. He didn’t know where all this anger was coming from.

“You were undercover, Doyle. You were meant to be ferreting about, not taking the mickey and letting it go to your head.”

“Oh, now you’re telling me how to do my job!”

“Someone has to!”

“Listen sunshine, I was running undercover ops while you were jumping out of aeroplanes and into bed with your SAS pals.”

“One SAS pal. And at least he never tried to blow me up!”

“No, he was too busy falling on his knees for you!”

“Shut up, Doyle.”

Doyle breathed in and out, his eyes on Bodie, and then he looked away. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I’m right about this.” Bodie’s voice was hard.

Doyle looked around. “Are you ready?” When Bodie said nothing, he continued, “Let’s get a drink on our way out. Calm down.” He turned and headed for the door.

The pub was busy and Betty was at the bar. She eyed him a bit warily, and Doyle realised word must have got out about CI5 and Sangster. Doyle ordered two beers, and wondered if Bodie was going to join him or not. He’d lost his temper, but he hadn’t expected Bodie’s attack. And why the fuck had he brought up Keller? Dammit.

“Calmed down?” Bodie leaned on the bar next to him.

Doyle shrugged. “Maybe I could have played it differently.” He kept his eye on his glass.

“Maybe?”

“All right, but Sangster had a gun on you. The threat of fire took away his advantage.”

“Unacceptable cost.”

Doyle glanced at him, then looked at his drink. “That depends on your perspective.”

“Doyle—”

“Hey.” He nudged Bodie. “At least we would have gone together.” He tried a small grin.

It took a moment, but then Bodie smiled as well. “Maniac.”

Doyle relaxed, and drank some of his beer. “Shall we eat here or on the road?”

“On the road. I don’t think we’re very popular here.”

Doyle glanced around and saw they were receiving covert looks. “Sangster wasn’t loved by everyone.”

“Go on, drink up. I want to go home.”

“Bored with the country, eh?”

“Oh, I dunno. Could see settling down in a place like this eventually.” Bodie looked at him sideways. “It had its moments.”

Doyle laughed. “Name one.”

“No one was shooting at us.”

Doyle blinked at the serious tone, and turned to look at him, but Betty approached from behind the bar.

“So you two are together, then.” She looked from one to the other.

Bodie buried his face in his glass.

“We’re partners, yeah.” Doyle swirled the beer in his glass. “In CI5.” He drank.

“Oh, the big time. And you’ve arrested the Colonel.”

“It needed doing.” He set his glass down.

“That’s as may be, but there are some who will be glad to see you back to London.”

“We’re leaving soon enough.”

Bodie spoke up. “The room’s paid through to the end of the week. CI5 will honour that.”

She nodded, and wiped the bar, still looking from one to the other. “I thought you must know each other, the way you got on. I couldn’t imagine why you were hiding it.”

Doyle stilled, his hand on his glass.

“Oh yeah?” Bodie drank his beer. “What did you think, then?”

She shrugged. “I decided it was none of my business—as long as he didn’t visit you overnight.”

Doyle forced out a laugh. “No fear of that.”

She smiled. “No. They teach you discretion in CI5, don’t they?” She nodded at them, and walked to the other side of the bar, where another customer was signalling.

“Bloody hell,” Doyle said.

“Well, if you will ogle me in public.”

“In your dreams, mate.” He finished his beer. “Especially in a place like this.”

“Be nice not to hide.”

Doyle looked at him. “You’re joking. You _like_ keeping secrets.” He pushed his glass away. “Even from me.”

Bodie shifted. “Doyle. About Keller…”

“Not here.” He nodded towards the door. “Let’s go, eh?”

He felt as if every eye in the pub was on them as they walked out. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. Christ, they were getting careless. _You think I can’t read all the signs?_ Keller had been bitter, but he’d had his eyes open—as had Betty. They had to be more careful.

The estate car was in the car park around the side of the pub. Night had closed in completely while they’d had their drinks. There was little light in the car park, and no other people. Doyle had parked his bike next to Bodie’s car.

“Bet you’ll be glad to get the Capri back.” He glanced over his shoulder as he walked towards his bike.

“Yeah.” He heard Bodie following him. “Doyle.”

Doyle turned, and found Bodie closer than he’d thought. He glanced around. They were screened from the road by a hedge.

“No one’s here,” Bodie said.

Doyle looked back at him. “I’m feeling a bit…exposed.”

“She was just having fun. Look, Keller—”

“You don’t owe me any explanations.” He didn’t want to hear it. _Always did go for his partners._

Bodie stepped closer. “What if I do? What if I want you to know?”

Doyle felt his stomach tighten. It wasn’t lust, it was closer to fear. “Bodie—”

Bodie put his hands on Doyle’s shoulders. “The truth, Ray. All of it. Me, my past, the future—whatever you need. Our future.” He took a deep breath. “I can't promise I won't die, or sacrifice myself if there's need. But I can promise I won't leave you.”

It was as if there was a vice around his chest, crushing him. “Don’t.”

“Why?” He could feel Bodie’s breath on his face.

“You can’t.” He stepped back, and Bodie let him go. He wanted to run; every muscle was tense. “We can’t. We are what we are. CI5. I’m not leaving the mob. That’s our future.”

“Ray—”

“What do you want, Bodie? A place in the country, picnics, estate cars? Everyone knowing?”

“Maybe. One day.”

“Get back to reality, mate.”

“Aviation fuel and fire, is that it?”

“Yeah.” And what they had between them safely contained. Realistic expectations.

Bodie shook his head. “There’s more than that.”

The vice squeezed tighter. “I don’t want more.”

There was a long silence. “Fair enough.” Bodie’s voice was without inflection. “What we have, then.”

Doyle took in a breath. “We have to be careful. If Betty—”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to tarnish CI5’s image, would we?”

“Look, Bodie. I don’t want—”

“To get pushed out. Yeah, I get that. It’s my profession too, you know. As you said, Doyle, I’m good at keeping secrets. So are you. Fair enough.”

“Okay.” Feeling oddly at a loss, Doyle turned back to the bike, but Bodie grabbed his arm. And then Bodie’s mouth was on his—firm, demanding, intimate. Doyle couldn’t stop the sound that escaped him.

Bodie pulled back, leaned in for another quick kiss, then released him. “I’m not leaving.”

Doyle swallowed. There would be a bruise on his arm. “Have to be in London tonight. Cowley’s orders.”

“For now.” It was too dark to read Bodie’s expression, but his voice was dangerous.

Doyle said nothing, just turned, and climbed onto his bike.

Bodie walked to the car, then looked at Doyle. “You remember that alley by the pub, where those lads tried to beat me? My shoulder was out.”

“They did beat you.” He remembered it well—and the revelation about Murphy.

“Until you saved me. Do you remember what I said?”

“Sex is inevitable.”

He saw the flash of Bodie’s grin. “The other thing.”

“You said a lot of things.”

“It’s not over, Ray. It’ll never be over.”

Doyle was silent, his emotions too tangled to decipher.

Bodie opened the car door. “I’ll pull off at a likely place for dinner. Your choice to join me or not. Either way, I’ll see you in London.” He slid into the car and started the engine.

Doyle got his bike going, and watched as Bodie pulled out of the car park. It would be easier in London. They both understood who they were in London.


	47. Coda to Foxhole on a Roof

“See, I told you he’d be lying about, didn’t I?” Bodie grinned as Murphy looked up.

“Yeah, lazy sod.” Doyle followed him into Murphy’s area of the ward.

“He lay down on the job while we were climbing, too.” Bodie shook his head.

“More like hung. Upside down. Here you go, Murphy.” Doyle handed Murphy a bag. “Keep in mind it saved him from that conversation you had with Cowley.”

“Grapes!” Murphy hefted the bag, frowned, then peered inside it.

“Yeah. What some people won’t do to get out of a scolding,” Bodie said.

“Only to be expected following your lead.”

Bodie glanced at Doyle and saw none of the anger had abated. He sighed.

“Ah.” Murphy looked up with a grin. “Mistaken me for the Cow, have you lads?”

“Drink it for good health,” Doyle said, his tone light.

“But furtively,” Bodie added. “Especially when Cowley comes to see you.”

“He’s already been here.”

Bodie winced.

“Yes But he did say I’d done well passing you my rifle.”

“So Bodie could kill the hostage.” Doyle nodded.

Bodie rolled his eyes. “Funny looking hostage.”

“At least you didn’t miss. If I’d hit Barker—”

“I had a better angle.” Bodie shrugged. “But I wanted Barker, too.”

“He was mine,” Doyle said.

Murphy smiled. “You should have heard Bodie when the helicopter changed direction. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“Let out a yell, did he?”

“I knew it was you.” Bodie nudged him. “One for each of us, you see.”

“And our different approaches. Yeah.” Doyle’s smile was slight, but genuine, and Bodie felt himself relax. It had been bad enough facing Cowley’s anger, but Doyle’s had been unexpected.

_Bloody Murphy—of course he’d follow you._

_He’s the one with the experience. I followed him._

_It wasn’t_ his _idea._

“I thought he was crazy.” Murphy shifted on the bed. “That brickwork was old—I didn’t think it would hold the pegs, much less us.”

“But it did.” Doyle looked at Bodie. “It was a good position—a good plan.”

“Better if we’d kept in touch.” He met Doyle’s gaze. “My fault.” He hadn’t talked to Cowley, and he hadn’t talked to Doyle. They had been playing it by the book and he’d thought action was needed.

Something in Doyle’s face seemed to ease. “I saw you from the helicopter. Couldn’t take a close look—I was concentrating on the pilot. But I saw a man on the chimney, and another dangling below him. I knew who it had to be.”

Bodie’s stomach tightened. He’d thought Doyle’s anger had stemmed from being kept out of the loop. He hadn’t thought about the bird’s eye view Doyle must have had. “We were safe as houses up there, weren’t we Murph?”

“I have a bullet wound in my shoulder, Bodie.” Murphy looked at Doyle. “He told me to use my other arm to pass the rifle to him. ‘Come on, come on. Come on, mate!’ That’s what he said to me.”

“Demanding sod, isn’t he?” The smile had reached Doyle’s voice at last.

Bodie took in a deep breath, and turned to Murphy. “How long are you laid up for, then?”

“I’m stuck here for another day or two. Then I go home—where I can laze about in comfort.”

Doyle nodded. “Until they send you to rehab—physio, re-training, testing.”

Murphy groaned.

“Followed by some time with Macklin for peak conditioning, of course,” Bodie said.

Murphy stared at him. “Cowley wouldn’t…would he?”

Bodie grinned. “Therefore, live for the day, right? Let’s open your…grapes.”

“Good idea, mate,” Doyle said. “I—” He was interrupted by a bleep from his R/T. “Oh, hell.” He walked towards the window to answer the R/T, keeping his voice low.

Murphy looked at Bodie. “What’s up?”

“Nothing—we’re just on call.” He saw Doyle returning and looked at him.

“We’re to meet Cowley—possible Mafia case with drugs. You’re on your own with the grapes, Murph.”

“I shall think of you with every sip.”

Bodie looked wistfully at the bag, then turned to follow Doyle.

“Bodie.” Murphy sounded hesitant.

“Yeah?” He looked back.

“Speak to you for a minute?” His eyes flickered to Doyle and back. “In private?”

Bodie froze, and then he glanced at Doyle.

Doyle’s face was expressionless, but he nodded. “I’ll meet you at the car.” He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Bodie. “Fair enough, right?” His tone was neutral, but Bodie heard the challenge, nevertheless. _I don’t want more._ No claim, no commitment beyond what they had. Bodie was free to do what he wanted. Bodie tightened his jaw and watched as Doyle left the ward.

“Is something going on?”

He turned back to Murphy. “No. What is it?” _Look, no other agents._ Doyle had said that as well, before he’d started running. The stupid sod.

“I—” Murphy broke off, and he looked down at the bag in his hands. “When I get out, I’d like…. Let’s have a drink, yeah?”

“Go down the pub, play some darts. Sounds good.”

“Yeah.”

“But not back to your place or mine.” Murphy’s gaze lifted, and Bodie met it. “There’s no future there.”

“You want a future?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No.” Murphy’s eyes shifted to the door and back. “You think he’ll give you one?” His voice was low, but hard.

Bodie was silent.

“My God. You do. That’s not for men like us. You know that.”

_Get back to reality, mate._

“And particularly not—” He broke off, swallowed, and continued. “He’s ambitious. You saw how he was working with Cowley—we all did.”

Bodie crossed his arms. “Cowley’s waiting. Anything else?”

“Bodie.” Murphy looked away, bit his lip, and looked back. “That night was good. No strings. No drama. Think about it.”

“You’re a good mate, Murph, but the line is there now.”

“He knew what I was going to ask you.”

“Yeah.”

“He walked away.”

Bodie uncrossed his arms. “Yeah. Call me when you’re ready. We’ll go to the pub.” He turned away.

“You poor sod.”

Bodie looked back, paused a moment, then walked to the bed and leaned down. “I’m lucky, mate. Every fucking day.” He stood up, turned, and left the ward.

Doyle’s Capri was parked by the entrance when Bodie emerged from the hospital. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “What do we know?”

“Very little. There was a shooting, at least one dead, and cocaine was involved. The police are there—Detective Inspector Harrington. We’re to wait for Cowley if he hasn’t arrived. We’re closer.” Doyle drove with his usual smooth efficiency.

“Where—?”

“A residence. Student area.”

“But cocaine and guns.”

“Yeah.”

He let the conversation lapse, already knowing Doyle wouldn’t ask him about Murphy. There had been an uneasiness between them since that conversation in the pub car park—and it hadn’t come from him. He’d reacted to it, however. _You saw how he was working with Cowley._ Doyle had been working hand-in-glove with Cowley on the Barker op, as if to prove the point he’d made about staying in CI5. Perhaps that was why Bodie had acted on his own, not even alerting Cowley. It reminded him of the early days in their partnership, when the competition between them had sometimes interfered with the job. That had to end.

“Doyle. Pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it. Up there.” He gestured towards an abandoned car park.

Doyle drove the Capri into the car park, and stopped by the shell of a warehouse. “What is it?”

Bodie put a hand on the scarf Doyle was wearing, and pulled him towards him. “No other agents, you said.” He kissed Doyle, and felt the immediate response with a sort of fierce joy. He finished the kiss, but didn’t let go of the scarf. “You’ve got nothing to prove to me, nor me to you. I’m not giving up, but I won’t push you—if you don’t push me. All right?”

Doyle licked his lips, then nodded.

“Right.” He released Doyle. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

But Doyle stayed were he was. “I’m sorry.”

“For the way it’s been, or Murphy?”

Doyle sighed. “Both.”

“Leave Murphy out of it, okay?”

“I know. But I realised I had no right—”

“You do. It doesn’t matter if you claim it or not. It’s my choice.”

“Bodie….”

“We’ll work it out. But we’re partners first, remember?”

“No. We’re more than that.” Doyle moved as if to touch him, but didn’t. “And you’ve the same right.” He looked away a moment. “It’s a bloody thin line.”

“Then we’ll walk it. One after the other, like always.”

“Yeah.” Doyle looked down, and Bodie saw him nod. Then Doyle sat back, put the car in gear, and headed towards the street.

Bodie put his hand on Doyle’s thigh, feeling the warmth through denim. Doyle didn’t object, and Bodie felt his own tension ease. Together, they could get through anything. Doyle said nothing more as he navigated through the streets to a house surrounded by police cars. He parked the Capri on the street. There was no sign of Cowley’s car, so they stayed put.

Bodie broke the silence. “So what was your plan then, if I’d come out with a date?”

Doyle glanced at him. “I…” He looked down, smiled, then looked at him sideways. “Exhaustion, I reckon.”

Bodie grinned. “Yours or mine?”

“Erm, both.”

“One for each of us, eh?”

“Share and share alike.” He looked through the windscreen. “But hold that thought.” He nodded towards Cowley’s car, approaching them from the opposite direction. They climbed out of the car, ready to follow Cowley onto the scene. Doyle wanted the job, so Bodie would make sure he had it. For now.


	48. Coda to Operation Susie

Bodie woke when Doyle left the bed. He stayed curled on his side, breathing and muscles relaxed, yet there was a tension deep inside. He didn’t know the time, but doubted it was near dawn. _Come back to bed, Ray._ He heard the toilet flush, and Doyle’s return to the room, and then the quiet sounds of Doyle dressing. He wanted to roll over, turn on a light, keep Doyle with him—but he held himself still.

_You’re a soldier, Bodie. You understand where Doyle does not._

_Yes, sir._

But it wasn’t worry over Cowley’s actions that drove Doyle from bed. Bodie had known that last night—had predicted it in the aftermath of Diana Molner’s death. _Look, we're just following our orders_ , Doyle had told Diana. That was the trouble—they had all been following orders, and all equally in the dark. Only Diana had been given a choice. He had done his best to ensure Doyle would sleep. He hadn’t expected to be given that opportunity. He’d thought Doyle would drop him at his flat after they’d been sent home by Cowley. But instead, Doyle had driven them both to his own flat, and had taken Bodie to bed.

His stomach tightened as he remembered the way Doyle had touched him. Doyle hadn’t said anything—had barely made a sound through it all, but his hands and body had been eloquent. Bodie would have been happier if there had been residual anger in Doyle, but there had been none—only need, and an intensity that had seemed tinged with despair. After a few attempts to draw Doyle out, he’d fallen silent as well, and let his body speak of acceptance and steadiness. _I won’t leave you._ Doyle had set the pace, and had brought them both to climax, and Bodie had held him in his arms afterwards until Doyle had finally fallen asleep.

Doyle was awake now, after too few hours, and Bodie knew he’d leave—get his bike, and let the night air and the ride clear his mind. In similar circumstances, Bodie would have chosen the target range; Doyle chose his bike. Only once had Doyle asked him to come along—after Mickey Hamilton’s death. And after that, for a few weeks, they’d shared— He cut the thought off. He didn’t want to remember how it had been between them then—what he had taken for granted. The next ride Doyle had taken had been on his own after Bodie’s crusade against King Billy.

_Death Knell of any relationship._

Cold wrapped around the tension inside him as he listened to Doyle’s movements.

_There’s more than that._

_I don’t want more._

It all came down to trust and vulnerability. He would prove to Doyle that it was safe to trust him again. That it was worth the danger to let him in and risk a future. Okay, it wasn’t safe—he couldn’t promise safety—but it would be worth it. Doyle would never be as alone and lost as Diana Molner had been—not as long as Bodie lived. All he asked was the right to stand by Doyle. What he wanted— Christ. What he wanted was far more. But right now, what Doyle needed was freedom, and that meant letting Doyle walk out the door into the night without him.

He lay still as Doyle left the room, and the sound of his footsteps faded. In his mind, he traced Doyle’s path through the darkened flat to the front door, then to the lift, and out of the building. Doyle would come back, as he had before. They would carry on. But he’d never share with Bodie what it took to achieve the truce within himself that would let him sleep.

He heard a whisper of sound, and jerked up on this arm, his pulse accelerating.

“Sorry.”

It was Doyle. Slowly, Bodie relaxed, and let out his breath, but his pulse rate stayed high.

Doyle sat on the bed. Bodie could see his form, but little else. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I thought you’d gone.” Bodie edged up and leaned against the headboard.

“No.” There was a pause.

“What is it, Ray?”

“Wondered if you might come with me.” Doyle’s voice was soft, his head bowed.

His stomach twisted, but it was pleasure, not pain. “I’d like that.”

Doyle’s head moved. “Because I need a keeper?”

“You need a partner.”

“Ah. I have one of those.” Doyle’s tone had lightened.

“There you go then.” He waited, but Doyle didn’t move. “Are we going now?”

“In a minute.” Bodie felt Doyle’s hand on his arm, and then it moved up to his face in a brushing caress. “I thought we’d had it today.”

“Me too.” He caught Doyle’s hand, and kissed it before letting go. “But you never gave up. You were still asking why.”

“You would’ve fought to the end.”

“Our orders were to protect her.”

“Despite betrayal?”

“We both agreed to an Operation Susie. Betrayal goes with the territory.”

“Yeah.” Bodie wished he could see Doyle’s expression. He reached out a hand, and found Doyle’s leg. Doyle let out a sigh. “Cowley wouldn’t sacrifice us willingly.”

“But he would sacrifice us.”

Doyle’s leg shifted under his hand. “Instead, it was her sacrifice.”

“It was her choice.”

“Was it? She didn’t know we’d fight. I said we’d had it. And she—”

“It didn’t take an expert to read that situation. Yeah, we’d’ve fought, but you and I both know we’d’ve lost. She stood up on the chance that they’d stop shooting if they killed her.”

Doyle breathed in. “And you’re okay with that?”

“No. But it was her choice.” He saw Doyle turn away, and moved his hand to Doyle’s arm, gripping him. “You’d blame yourself for everything, wouldn’t you? That’s a sort of hubris, Doyle. You told her to stay down.”

Doyle’s arm was rock hard. “She trusted us.”

“Those men would have had to have gone through us to get to her. She knew that.”

Doyle’s arm twitched, but he didn’t move away. “What did you think? When they found us?”

“That someone had brought a hell of a lot of pressure to bear on Cowley.”

Doyle looked down. “CI5 comes first.”

“We always knew that.”

“What about Joe Public? What’s the point of roses and lavender, if…?”

Bodie sighed, and took his hand from Doyle’s arm. “She wasn’t exactly a civilian.”

“You’re saying she was one of us?”

Bodie thought about it. “Yeah.”

Doyle was silent.

“Why not? She was a soldier, fighting for her cause. At least she knew what she was fighting for.”

“She watched her brother die.”

“We’ve both lost comrades. One day we might—” Bodie stopped the words, not wanting to say it. “She decided we were worth dying for. You have to honour that.”

“It was meaningless. They’d been called off. She—”

“No. That’s the one thing in all this mess that makes any sense at all. She saw a way to save us, and she took it.”

“Christ, Bodie.” Doyle’s voice was low, nearly choked.

Bodie stopped himself from reaching out to him. “You remember when I told you about Brennan?”

Doyle nodded. “Yeah.”

“You helped me accept his actions—his compromise between his own honour and his desire to save me. Sometimes all you can do is honour the choice someone else makes.”

Doyle was still, and then he surged forward, and kissed Bodie with a fierceness that had been lacking earlier. “Don’t you bloody sacrifice yourself for me.”

Bodie grinned. “Isn’t that what I told you?” He sobered, and cupped Doyle’s neck with his hands. “I can’t promise that—neither of us can. All we can promise is to know the cost of what we choose to do.”

The muscles in Doyle’s neck were tight. After a long moment, he bowed his head against Bodie’s chest.

“At least we would have gone out together this time.” Bodie kept his voice soft. “So you can’t be angry with me.”

Doyle gave a huff of breath, that might have been a laugh. “Berk.” He raised his head, then kissed Bodie again. “Why the hell are we in this job?” Bodie felt Doyle’s stillness as he realised what he’d said.

Bodie’s stomach clenched. “Questioning your role?” He knew what his own was. “This was like Manton, wasn’t it? Or that time with Willis. It’s the part of the job that doesn’t play by your rules, and you fight it every time.”

“And you understand it?”

“I have more experience with it. You’re a copper, Doyle, not a soldier.”

“Soldiers. Like the ones that were shooting at us?”

“Yeah, like them. Like me. I was following orders.”

“We both were.”

“Yeah, but you were questioning everything, weren’t you? Why was she so important? Why all the hurry?” He took in a breath, his resolution hardening. “It’s why you’re in CI5—why you’re good at the job. You never stop questioning, you never stop caring, and you never give up.”

“I gave up today, I—”

He tightened his hold. “No, you bloody well didn’t.” He shifted, pulled Doyle down on top of him. “You fought and questioned to the end. And that’s why Cowley needs you. Hubris aside,” he added with a smile.

“He needs both of us.” Doyle’s voice was fierce.

Bodie nodded, certain of that if of nothing else. “Both of us—and the balance we represent. Sometimes we have to be soldiers; sometimes coppers. We…translate for each other.”

“I thought we were past that.”

“Oh, yeah. Wasn’t it just the other day I went up that chimney, while you followed your own leads?”

“We both got there in the end.”

“Oh, you liked that, did you?’

“No. I was missing my bloody-minded partner.”

“Well, if you had a better head for heights—” Bodie jumped as Doyle nipped him. “Ow! What the hell was that for?’

“Punishment. And…marking my partner.” Doyle licked Bodie’s skin.

“For who’s benefit?” Bodie moved his hands to Doyle’s body, and mourned the fact that Doyle was dressed. “Weren’t we going out?”

“Oh, yeah.” Doyle pushed against Bodie to sit up, but Bodie grabbed him for a thorough kiss of his own.

“My mark’s more subtle,” he said, as he released Doyle. “Go on, then.” He pushed Doyle up.

“Bastard.” Doyle’s voice was husky.

“You’re the one who started this whilst fully clothed.”

“Come on.” Doyle pulled at him. “Let’s both be uncomfortable.”

Bodie allowed himself to be dragged out of bed, but when he turned to get his clothes, he felt Doyle’s hand on his arm. “What?”

“You left the Paras, the SAS—what does CI5 give you? And don’t tell me money.”

You. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Most of the time, in this mob, I know what I’m fighting for.” He pulled Doyle into his arms. “You know M17 is known as the department of dirty tricks. Don’t let them get to you Ray, eh? It’s not what you’re in CI5 for.”

Doyle’s voice was muffled. “You’re saying the job’s important.”

“You know it is. Don’t doubt it.” His throat closed, and he tightened his hold on Doyle. But all too soon, he knew it was time to let him go. He turned to look for his clothes.

“We could stay in,” Doyle said softly.

“Now he tells me.” There was a knot in his stomach. “Go on, get the bike. The ride will do us both good.”

“All right.” Doyle touched him lightly on his stomach, then took a few steps away, and turned back. “But I’m still driving.”

“Would I argue that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you would.”

“One day, Raymond, I shall change your mind.”

“Not with my bike, you won’t.” He headed for the door. “And hurry up.”

Doyle left the room. Bodie stood still for a moment. Doyle had found his peace, and Bodie had paid the unseen price of it. But it had been his choice, and he’d do it again. Bodie finished dressing, put his holster on, and let himself out of the flat. In the lift, he looked at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. The job was important. It had to be. It was what Doyle wanted.

Doyle drove up on the bike as Bodie left the building. Bodie accepted the helmet Doyle handed him, then climbed on the bike and wrapped his arms around Doyle. They set off through the streets, the bike gaining speed. Bodie absorbed the power of the bike, the warmth of Doyle, and the chill of the night air. He tightened his hold, and let that last conversation with Cowley flow through him.

_He’s angry and he feels guilty. That’s his vulnerability, his soft core. He cares. The Northcotts of this world—the Willises—they don’t. We need agents like Doyle, and his stubborn idealism. He could go far in CI5—both of you could go far. If you manage your vulnerabilities._

_Yes, sir._

_You may need to remind him—convince him._

_Leave it to me, sir._

They’d stay in CI5. They’d stay partners, lovers—nothing more and nothing less. He’d walk that thin line with Doyle—and keep him on it, if need be. He remembered Doyle’s voice from long ago: _I’m not giving up that trust—or that responsibility._ Neither was he. But here in the dark, with Doyle held safely to him, he’d let himself feel the full bittersweetness of his own resolution.


	49. Coda to You'll Be All Right

“So. Where is this mythical food you promised me?” Doyle glanced behind him as he entered Bodie’s flat.

“In the kitchen. Where do you think?” There was laughter in Bodie’s voice, and Doyle was glad to hear it. He had been quiet all day—since the end of the op.

“Are you certain you don’t want to get a takeway? I like that Chinese place.”

“I said I would make you dinner.” Bodie closed the door behind them and set the locks.

“Which sounded intriguing at the time, but…I’m hungry.”

“I can make dinner, you sod. I was in the SAS.”

“If you feed me something that ought to be scampering around under your window—”

Bodie shoved him towards the kitchen. “Get in there and take it like a man, Doyle.”

Doyle detoured to the living room to shed his jacket and holster. Bodie’s flat was peaceful, familiar, and he took a moment just to absorb it. The op was over—they’d been in charge, and they’d cracked it. He felt satisfaction in that, but as he entered the kitchen, he spared a thought for Jack Stone, spending his first night in the nick, away from his family.

“What are you frowning about? Here, look.” Bodie waved a packet at him.

“What the hell is that?” He grabbed Bodie’s wrist and peered at the packet.

“Frozen veg! Mixed.”

“Peas, carrots, and sweetcorn. I stand amazed.” He let go of Bodie’s wrist.

“It’s healthy, you see.” Bodie beamed.

“How old is it?”

“Erm…dunno. Does it matter?”

Doyle sighed. “What else have you got?”

Bodie turned to the freezer and eventually extracted another package. “Mince!”

“You’re just making this up as you go along, aren’t you?”

Bodie grinned, and set the mince down next to the veg. He rooted in the cupboard next to the refrigerator and pulled out a tin of tomatoes. He turned back to Doyle. “Well?”

“Have you got anything fresh?”

Bodie opened the refrigerator. He took out an onion.

Doyle rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, all right. We can have shepherd’s pie.”

“There you go then.”

“If you have such a thing as a potato?”

Bodie froze.

“How can you not have potatoes?”

Bodie looked wounded. “I _had_ potatoes.”

Doyle gazed at him.

“They grew things.”

“I see.”

“ _Peculiar_ things.”

“I’ll go and get the takeway.” Doyle turned towards the door.

“Hang on.” Bodie put his arm around Doyle’s shoulders and turned him back. “I’ve got frozen chips, too.”

“Or better yet, _you_ go and get the takeaway.”

Bodie leaned in close. “I’m making you dinner, you disbelieving bugger. Here. With…afters.” He gave Doyle a quick kiss, and then he grinned.

“Oh, _afters_.” Doyle eyed him. Bodie’s jacket and holster had been discarded. His black shirt was open at the neck, and tucked into his black cords. “Hadn’t you better get the chips out, then?”

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Don’t boast.” Doyle found a knife and set about chopping the onion.

“Confidence is an asset in our line of work.” Bodie retrieved a bag of chips from the freezer.

“Oh yeah? Rod’s confident.”

Bodie poured some oil into a pan and put it on the stove. “You took him down a peg or two.”

“Not enough.”

“He’ll either learn or wash out.”

“Yeah, suppose so.”

“Why’d you bring him in, anyway?”

Doyle put the chopped onion into the pan. “He volunteered.”

“Did he? Why?”

“To be near me.” He poked at the onion, and controlled his expression as the silence stretched. He looked around at Bodie. “Well, you were inviting all your ex-lovers in on the case.”

“Ex—? When?”

Doyle let his grin out.

“You…berk.”

“Well, it was half-true—he wanted to work with the top team. He thought it would be good for his record.”

“He has a thing or two to learn about Cowley, then, hasn’t he?” Bodie turned on the oven.

“If he gets the chance. Is that mince open?”

“Yeah.” Bodie added the mince to the pan.

“Here, you promised me cooking.” Doyle handed the wooden spoon to Bodie, then headed towards the door.

“Oi, where are you going?”

“If you used your wine for cooking, rather than seduction, I wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

“Ah. Good idea.”

Doyle fetched two glasses of red wine. He set one on the worktop by Bodie, then peered into the pan. “That’s about ready.”

Bodie took a sip of wine. “Is this for cooking or seduction?”

Doyle tilted his head and let his eyes roam over Bodie. “Do you have an Oxo cube?”

Bodie sighed. “So dies romance.” He looked dubious. “I _might_ have….”

“Where might I find it? Hypothetically.” Bodie gestured toward one of the cupboards. Doyle opened it and searched through the contents.

“Ray, what were you frowning about earlier?”

“Good God, how old is this?” Doyle held up a jar of curry paste.

“Dunno. It keeps appearing after every move. Looks all right, doesn’t it?”

Doyle put the jar in the bin. “I was thinking about Jack.”

“What about him? Bodie opened the tin of tomatoes.

“Just…what it must be like for him tonight.” Doyle dug around in the cupboard.

“And for his family. They’re really on their own now.”

“Well, maybe they can get on with their lives without this hanging over them. Ha!” Doyle pulled out a box of Oxo cubes. He peered at it, and reckoned it would be all right to add to the mince. “Here.” He tossed a cube to Bodie.

Bodie was drinking, but he caught the cube left-handed. “Careful.” He set his wine glass down.

“Oh, did you spill some?” Doyle strolled over, and kissed Bodie. He pulled back after sweeping his tongue along Bodie’s lip. “Hmm. All clean now.”

“We could forget about dinner.” Bodie reached for him.

“Oh, no.” Doyle stepped back. “We missed breakfast, and lunch was a stale CI5 special. Have at it.”

“I’d rather have you.”

“There won’t be anything left of me if I’m not fed.” He turned away to find a baking tray for the chips.

“Could live on love, couldn’t we?” Doyle turned back in time to see Bodie mix the Oxo cube into the mince, onion, and tomato mixture, along with a splash of his wine. “All the writers say so.”

“It didn’t do Jack and Chrissie much good, did it?”

Bodie added the vegetables to the pan. “Oh, I don’t know. At least they were together.”

“You were the one who thought Jack wouldn’t come back!”

Bodie glanced at him.

“You agreed with Cowley that I was soft in the head.” He opened the bags of chips, his eyes on Bodie.

“Yes, but for different reasons.”

“Oh?” He dumped the chips onto the tray. “Enlighten me.”

“Cowley thought Jack had done a runner, right? I reckoned he’d break his word to you—find a way to stay with Chrissie and the kids.”

Doyle shook his head. “No way. He’d’ve had to leave them behind, and he wouldn’t do that.”

“He could’ve had them meet him somewhere.”

“They wouldn’t go. Anyway, it would have been like leading a parade. There’s no way his family wouldn’t be under surveillance.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Bodie stirred the mixture in the pan.

Doyle studied Bodie’s profile. “I would have thought you’d think Jack would cut his ties.”

“I thought he had. We all did, didn’t we?”

“Yet there he was, all these years—right under our noses.”

“With his family.”

“I’d’ve gone stir crazy—stuck in that attic.” And yet a part of him understood, as he wouldn’t have some years ago.

Bodie shrugged. “He must’ve gone out now and again. Enough for Pat Weaver to catch on.” He looked at Doyle. “It was worth it for him. All he needed was Chrissie and the kids.”

Doyle held his gaze for a long moment, and then looked down at the chips. “He’ll be in prison now.” He put the tray in the oven.

“He had to protect what was his—no matter the cost to him.”

“Yeah. And he kept his word.”

Bodie nodded. He turned the heat down on the stove. “You enjoyed telling Cowley about Jack, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Doyle smiled. “Although to be fair, he went along with us on this all the way.”

“He went along with you.”

“Let us run the op. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Bodie turned away to pick up his wine glass.

“Mind you, the part I liked was watching you crumble in front of Jack—hard man, that you are.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows.

Doyle looked him up and down. “I’ve said it before. Underneath that—-”

“Don’t say it again.” Bodie set his wine glass down.

“Hard, ex-merc, ex-SAS exterior….” Doyle took a step sideways, towards the door.

“I really wouldn’t.” Bodie stepped forward.

“Is a great, big, soft—” Doyle bolted for the door as Bodie pounced. He made it to the living room before Bodie took him down. He twisted, but Bodie wrapped his legs around Doyle’s and used his weight to keep him down.

“Soft, eh?”

Doyle laughed at him. “I call it like I see it.”

“Oh yeah?” Bodie thrust against him. “Soft?”

“As marsh—” His words were cut off as Bodie kissed him. His body sparked into awareness—like electricity coming back after a power cut. Bodie moved from his mouth to his neck, sucking and licking. “It’s a…wonder….” He writhed against Bodie, revelling in the contact. “You ever made it into…. Ah—” He jolted as Bodie nipped him.

“Could break you in a minute.” Bodie returned to Doyle’s mouth, kissing him deeply. “Less than a minute. Half a second.”

“It’s better if it lasts longer.” Doyle ran his hands down Bodie’s back. “And with fewer clothes.”

“Good idea.” Bodie unbuttoned Doyle’s shirt.

“Not _me_ , you…daft….” He arched as Bodie applied his mouth to Doyle’s chest. “Wait, you—” Bodie’s hands were on his belt now, his palm pressing down on Doyle’s cock. Doyle shuddered. “Oh…. Hurry, then.”

“Decisive as usual. Funny how sex seems to do this to you sometimes.” The laughter was back in Bodie’s voice.

“Shut up and get on with it.” Doyle tugged at Bodie’s shirt, and found a way in so he could touch skin. He sucked his breath in as Bodie opened his jeans and pulled them down. Bodie took Doyle cock in his hand, and Doyle surged into Bodie’s grip, a part of him amazed that he still responded so quickly to Bodie’s touch.

“Let me move.” And Doyle realised he was clutching Bodie, holding him fast while he thrust into Bodie’s hand. He let him go. Bodie slid down and his mouth replaced his hand on Doyle’s cock.

Doyle groaned. He shut his eyes, put his hand on Bodie’s head, and felt his movements in both fingers and cock. “Oh, Christ, that feels….” He hadn’t realised he’d been on the boil; hadn’t thought he needed this now. But he let the tide roll through him, encouraged it to grow without restraint or control. He wanted to come in Bodie’s mouth; wanted to fill him; wanted to forget everything in the world except him.

He felt Bodie stroke his balls, and he thrust harder, faster—frustrated when Bodie controlled the depth of penetration. Bodie pulled back a little, and his tongue swirled around Doyle’s cockhead, then he plunged back down on him. Doyle whimpered, every nerve in his body sparking. Bodie took him in. He was surrounded by heat and pressure as he thrust home. All he needed was Bodie; all he wanted was here. And then he was coming, unable to hold anything back—unwilling to hold anything back. Bodie’s hands were firm on him—steady as a rock as Bodie swallowed all he had to give.

Doyle lay panting afterwards, as the world slowly came back into focus. His hand was still on Bodie’s head. He stroked his hair, smoothing the short strands between his fingers.

“I think you liked that.” Bodie’s voice was hoarse, and it came from somewhere near Doyle’s pelvis.

“Maybe I’m the one who’s soft.”

“Well, you are now, at any rate.”

Doyle slowly sat up, leaned down and kissed Bodie. “Thank you.”

Bodie grinned, and took a quick nip and kiss of his own. “Care to return the favour?”

“Absolutely. I like your technique. The next time I cook for you, I’ll—”

Bodie took his mouth again, and eased him back to the floor. “You cooked the onion.”

“So I did.” He looked at Bodie, then traced the outline of Bodie’s cock through his cords. “What was all that about breaking me?”

Bodie hissed. “Doyle.”

“You want to be broken, don’t you?” He freed Bodie’s cock, stroked along its firm length. He smiled as Bodie’s breath caught. “Oh, yeah.”

“Stop that.” Bodie pulled away from him. “My dinner—my plans.” He took off his cords, then shuffled to a nearby side table.

“Where are you going?” Doyle raised his eyebrows at the tube Bodie pulled out of a drawer. “Wine and lube in the living room? Who’ve you been entertaining, then?”

Bodie returned to him. “Always be prepared, that’s my motto.”

“Since when?”

Bodie helped Doyle tug his jeans off. “Also always ready to lend a hand.”

“So I see. The boy scouts wouldn’t have you, you know—they frown on this sort of thing.” Doyle took the tube from Bodie’s hand and put some of the lube on his fingers.

“I was more interested in girl—ahh, easy, sunshine—guides at the time.”

Doyle gentled his touch as he rubbed Bodie’s cock. “When was your first fella?”

“That depends on what you’re after. The first time I sucked cock was after I jumped ship. It got me enough money for food.” Bodie took the tube from Doyle. “My turn.”

“Oh, very masterful. It’d be more convincing if you weren’t shaking.” Doyle lay down, his head on his arm. “Your first male lover, then.” He used his free hand to slowly unbutton Bodie’s black shirt.

After a moment, a smile flickered across Bodie’s face. “Ah, well.” He brushed a finger along Doyle’s face. “Once upon a time I would have said Brennan.”

“And now?” He felt something like pressure on his chest.

“You.”

Even expecting the answer, it pierced him. “Bodie—”

Bodie kissed him quickly. “Don’t say anything, Ray.” His eyes fell to the tube in his hand.

Doyle watched him as he put lube onto his fingers. “My first male sex was at school. Well, not _at_ school. A friend and I got...carried away, you might say.”

“That must have been a surprise.”

“It was.” He shifted as Bodie slid a hand towards his anus. “He blamed me.”

“Ah.” Bodie’s eyes lifted. “Was that how your cheek...?”

“No.” He closed his eyes, and breathed in as Bodie’s hand explored him. “That was after my first lover left me.”

Bodie’s hand stilled. “He didn’t—?”

“No. I went to a pub and got drunk. Very drunk. I woke up in hospital the next morning. Oh, Bodie, that feels good.”

“Turn over, Ray.” Bodie whispered the words.

Doyle opened his eyes. Bodie smiled at him, but there seemed to be a shadow in his eyes. Doyle reached up and brought him down to him. “He was the last, until you.” He kissed Bodie, drawing his tongue into him, inviting him in. And when the kiss finished, he turned over, braced himself on his hands and knees. Bodie wrapped one arm around him, while his other hand gripped Doyle’s arm. The shock of Bodie’s entry made him gasp, but the easy thrusts that followed ignited embers within. It wasn’t enough to bring him to hardness, but it felt good. He moved with Bodie, wanting it to be good for him, listening to his pleasure. He knew when Bodie’s control started to slip, as surely as it had slipped from him earlier. He wished fiercely for a mirror—for a way to see Bodie taking him. He wanted to watch muscles moving under slick, pale skin; wanted to witness the power in every line of Bodie’s body. Bodie was completely focused on him, and it thrilled him like a sexual charge, all the way down to the core. He was Bodie’s lover, and Bodie was his.

When Bodie climaxed it was with a whisper, not a shout: “Ray.” And it was right—so utterly, fucking right. Doyle’s heart soared, almost as if he’d come again. _All he needed was Chrissie and the kids._ He bloody well understood Jack Stone—as well as Bodie did. Bodie leaned heavily on Doyle’s back. Doyle eased them to the floor. He turned, when he could, and gathered Bodie to him. Bodie rested in his arms, his head tucked against Doyle’s chest.

“It might be easier, tucked away in an attic.” Doyle kept his voice to a murmur.

Bodie sighed, his breath warm on Doyle’s skin. “We’ve never taken the easy route to anything.”

“True.” Doyle rubbed Bodie’s back, his hand under his shirt. “Speaking of which, what did you mean about Cowley?”

“When?” Bodie sounded puzzled, but Doyle felt the tension in his back.

“You said he went along with me.”

“Yeah, well….” Bodie shifted in his arms.

“Tell me.”

Bodie pulled away, and Doyle let him go. “It’s nothing, Ray. It’s just…. Cowley knows what keeps you in CI5.”

Doyle looked at him, his stomach tightening. “You’re saying—”

“I’m saying that he needs you—like I told you before.” Bodie took in a breath. “And he knows you were upset after Diana Molner.”

Doyle took a moment to respond. “Carrot and stick.”

“What?”

“Oh, just something that came up when I visited Turner the other day. Only then you were the stick.” He tilted his head. “Do you reckon Cowley knows you’re also the carrot?”

Bodie winced. “I hope not.” He brushed Doyle’s lips with his finger. “You’re not upset, then.”

Doyle shrugged. “Cowley’s right—I enjoyed running the op. We did a damn fine job of it. We’ve earned it.”

“More responsibility.” Bodie’s voice was quiet, and lashes covered his eyes.

“Yeah.” Doyle put his knuckle under Bodie’s chin. “As long as it’s together.” He kissed him. And then his stomach growled. “Oi.” He poked Bodie. “Where’s my dinner, now that we’ve had afters first?”

They stared at each other.

“Oh, fuck.” Bodie scrambled to his feet, headed for the kitchen.

Doyle pulled on his jeans, snagged Bodie’s cords and pants, and followed. He arrived in the kitchen to find Bodie taking the tray of chips from the oven. Doyle peered at them. “A bit well done, aren’t they?”

“Better that way. Get me a— Oh, thanks.” Bodie dumped chips onto the plate Doyle had placed on the worktop. Some of the chips stuck to the tray.

“Don’t use your fingers! Think where they’ve been. Here.” Doyle handed him a knife.

“Squeamish?” Bodie set the tray down as the last of the chips landed on the plate.

“Not noticeably.” Doyle walked to the sink. “There’s a second plate underneath that. We’ll divide that lot in a minute—get dressed first, eh?” He nodded towards Bodie’s clothes.

“Rather wish you hadn’t.” Bodie sounded wistful.

Doyle threw him a look over his shoulder. “Your flat is not a beach in Spain.”

“Pity. Could do with a swim—or a shower. Both of us.”

“That would ruin dinner—cold chips.” Doyle finished washing his hands.

Bodie moved in behind him, trapping Doyle with his arms as he washed his own hands. “Put them back in a warm oven. We’d be quick.”

Doyle snorted, and turned in Bodie’s arms. “Dreamer. You’ll just have to suffer in sticky clothes, same as me.”

“Ah, well, share and share alike.”

“Remember that when we divide the chips. And _don’t_ wipe your hands on my shirt.”

“Spoilsport.” Bodie moved to the side and used the towel next to the sink.

Doyle checked on the pot of mince. It seemed to have survived neglect.

“Ray?”

He turned and saw that Bodie wasn’t looking at him. “What?”

“I’ll make you breakfast, too. If you want.” He turned towards Doyle.

“I’ve seen your cupboards, remember.”

Bodie nodded, his face expressionless.

“So what’s on offer, then?”

“Anything you want.”

Doyle felt his heart thump, like at the start of a firefight. He walked forward. “Have you got cheese?”

“Yes.”

“Bread?”

Bodie smiled. “Yes.”

“Beans?”

“Always.”

“There you go, then. That’ll do me.” He stopped in front of Bodie, and rubbed the tips of his fingers across Bodie’s chest. “You’ll do me. I’ve had other lovers, male and female.” He raised his eyes to Bodie. “I’d like you to be the last.”

Bodie was very still, and then he breathed in. “Ray—”

“We can’t make promises. We’re still in CI5. But…there it is.”

Bodie put his hands on Doyle’s shoulders. “You’ll do me.”

Doyle nodded, his throat tight. “Tomorrow, you’ll come home with me.”

“Yes.”

“Bring some clothes to leave—and a toothbrush.”

“All right.”

“I’ll bring my stuff next time we come here”

Bodie leaned in for a kiss. “Switching flats—like our own mobile attic?”

“Yeah.” It felt like a gun clicking together; like the first time Bodie had saved his life.

Bodie grinned. “We’ll have to be very, very careful.”

Doyle smiled back at him.


	50. Coda to Lawson's Last Stand

The cannister exploded, the sound muffled by the tank. Doyle waited a few seconds more, his heart hammering, and then he pushed himself off the ground. The tank was still there, and foam was already being applied to it. By God, they’d done it. He grinned. Bodie walked towards him, still breathing hard. Mindful of their audience, Doyle thumped him on the shoulder, and heard Bodie chuckle.

Bodie glanced back at the tank. “Yeah, that’s all right.” He sounded as elated as Doyle felt.

Cowley was checking on Lawson as they approached. “He’s dead.” He stood, and surveyed them “You’re out of breath three-seven.”

“Yes, sir. Soft, you might say.” His tone was oddly clipped. He glanced at Doyle, then moved past Lawson's body.

Doyle stood still, surprised by Bodie’s mood. Perhaps it was reaction setting in after the adrenaline rush. His own hands were shaking—as they hadn't when he'd caught the cannister. Yet he felt great. Bodie looked back at him once more before continuing towards the command centre. Doyle followed after him. Men and women from the military and police milled around the area, some with tasks, others waiting for their orders. As they passed through the crowd, Doyle and Bodie both received quick smiles and the occasional pat on the back or arm. It wasn't usual for the security forces to congratulate their own for doing their jobs, but these circumstances were far from normal.

Bodie climbed into a lorry to change back into his clothes. Doyle leaned against the back of the vehicle, and watched the familiar chaos of a cleanup involving several security agencies. Most of the military’s activities still centred around the tank. “I wonder what they’re going to do with that tank. I mean, how do you decontaminate nerve gas? For that matter, how do they even know what to do?”

“Oh, they know.” Bodie’s voice carried from inside the lorry. “You heard the Brigadier—we have to know how to defend ourselves.”

“Fair enough, but what are they going to do with that sealed tank? Bury it at Marston Dale?”

“Whatever they do, it’ll be classified. No one will ever know—except for a select few.”

“Yeah. Until it starts to leak.” Doyle kicked the tyre of the lorry. “You reckon someone wanted to put a stop to Lawson’s meteoric rise?”

“How so?” Bodie’s tone was cool

“They wiped out his battalion. It was his big opportunity, wasn’t it? He had those new plans that Tennant talked about.”

“So?” Bodie climbed out of the lorry, dressed again in black cords, a grey shirt and his grey jacket.

“So, they blew it for him.”

“You’re forgetting the time-honoured character test of public humiliation. That was probably more important than the war exercises.”

Doyle looked at him. “It was a test?”

Bodie shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Wouldn’t it have ruined his career?

“Not if he’d accepted it—and all the jokes and snide remarks.”

“Strewth.” Doyle looked out across the field towards Lawson’s body.

“Don’t feel sorry for him. He was bred to it, wasn’t he? Sandhurst? He knew the score.” Bodie’s tone was derisive.

“But he didn’t expect them to use nerve gas.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he should have. And don’t forget—he was willing to kill to appease his bloody sense of honour.”

“He was betrayed by his own high command.”

“So were we, not that long ago.”

Doyle turned his head to look at Bodie. “That was different. This...it’d be like Cowley ordering us to abandon Joe Public.”

“It was realistic—both sides have nerve gas. Do you think they wouldn’t use it if push came to shove?”

Doyle didn’t say anything. His eyes shifted back to the field.

Bodie’s voice was rough when he spoke again. “Push came to shove with Cowley when it came to Diana Molner.”

Doyle looked at him. “Yeah. Okay.”

Bodie held his gaze. “And what if Cowley did tell us to abandon Joe Public?”

“He wouldn’t.”

Bodie smiled, but there was no humour in it. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”

“We’d make a choice. I told you that after Parsali.”

“Yeah. But what if you haven’t got a choice—or you make it too late?” Bodie took in a breath. “Come on, let’s get back to HQ.”

Doyle followed as Bodie walked away. “Hang on, we’ve—”

“There’s nothing more we can do here.”

Doyle grabbed Bodie’s arm. “Bodie!” He looked into Bodie’s closed face, and wondered what had happened to the elation they’d felt after the op. In fact, Bodie’s mood had deteriorated over the last two days. “What is it?”

Something flickered in Bodie’s eyes, and then his arm relaxed in Doyle’s grip. “Nothing for you—”

“Bodie. Doyle.”

Bodie jerked away from him, and they turned towards Cowley.

“Wait for me here,” said Cowley. “It’s going to take some time to clear the area and untangle all the services involved.”

“All the egos as well,” Bodie said.

“ Aye, that too.”

“What about the other man, sir?” Doyle asked. “Willis.”

“He’s gone to ground. I’ve set Susan to tracking him.” Cowley glanced around. “Ah, there’s Major Heaton.” He nodded at them, then walked towards Heaton, who was talking to some of his men. They were still in their NBC suits, although they’d removed their head gear.

“Fuck.” Bodie led them back to the lorry.

"It’s only to be expected. What are you in such a hurry for, anyway? It's not as if you've got a hot—" Doyle suddenly broke off as he caught a fleeting expression on Bodie's face. His stomach tightened. "Or have you?" He spoke the words slowly. There had been nothing said about their plans for the night, but he had assumed....

“No, but—” Bodie pressed his lips together for a moment. “We should. Date, I mean. Birds. Sometimes.”

It felt like trying to breathe with too little oxygen. “What the fuck is going on, Bodie?’

Bodie looked around, and his voice was low when he spoke. “We agreed we had to be careful. It’s cover, all right?”

“Oh, convenient.”

“Doyle!” Bodie closed his eyes briefly, then crossed his arms. “It’s not that I—”

“You’re running. I _knew_ —”

“Keep your sodding voice down. And I’m _not_.” Bodie hissed the words.

Doyle turned and leaned against the lorry next to Bodie. He watched a group of men heading for the tank.

Bodie’s voice was tight. “If we’re going to stay in CI5—”

“You want out? You’re ready for that cottage in a village, are you? Cream teas, gardens—”

“Shut up.” Bodie shifted against the lorry. “It wouldn’t do me any bloody good if I were ready, would it?”

Doyle looked up at the sky, then back at Bodie. “All right. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“We blew it with Lawson. 'Soft' was just one of the words Cowley used.”

“Is that what this is about? That was no different than any other time he’s given us a rocket.”

"Wasn't it? ‘Were you on the job or not?’ That’s a warning, Doyle."

“You’re paranoid.”

“I’m careful—because it damn well _matters_.”

He could feel the tension in Bodie’s body. “You said—” He broke off as a policeman walked past them. He looked at the ground. “Cowley knows. He’ll give us a certain latitude, you said.”

“As long as CI5—and his orders—come first.”

“And they bloody well have.” Doyle looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Every time.”

Bodie was silent.

“We came through today. We made up for—”

“That’s my fucking point!”

Doyle saw heads turn at Bodie’s words. It was madness for them to be discussing this here. “Be careful, you fool.”

“Oh, that’s rich.” But Bodie’s voice was softer.

“What has this got to do with you wanting to go out with birds?”

He saw Bodie’s fist clench. “It’s not what I _want_. Look, Cowley needs to think this is...casual between us.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t mind if agents bed each other. He minds if they get too damn close.”

“Lost cause.” Doyle pushed away from the lorry. “Even before we—” He looked away, scowling.

“I know. But he doesn’t.”

Doyle turned towards him. “We didn’t blow it because we were...distracted.” He gestured with his hand towards the tank. “We bloody well saved them all.”

“Yes.” Bodie’s gaze was steady. “We proved ourselves.”

Doyle’s gut clenched. He remembered Bodie's intensity as they'd discussed the plan. _What if I drop it? You don't._ There'd been no black humour in sight. He shook his head. “We’d’ve done that regardless.”

“We _had_ to be the ones to take Lawson down.”

“That’s bloody—”

“Dangerous? Yeah.”

“We don’t have to prove—” He broke off. _Were you on the job or not?_ He turned away from Bodie. “If we failed on the job, we’d be out. We’re better than that.”

“If Cowley sees a drop in our efficiency, he’ll act on it. We’re valuable to him—he’s not going to let us fail.”

“What the fuck do you think he’d do?” Doyle glanced over his shoulder at him.

“Reassign us. Separate us.”

The suffocating feeling was back. “We’d resign.”

“Would we?” Bodie’s voice was quiet.

He breathed in and out quickly. He wasn’t ready to resign; he didn’t think Bodie was ready, either. “We’d fight it.”

“His orders come first.”

At that, he turned and took in Bodie’s grim expression. “You’d follow orders.”

“We signed on for CI5.”

Doyle held Bodie’s gaze. “We haven’t always followed orders.”

“Cowley knows when we haven’t—and why.”

Doyle had gone after Holly; Bodie had gone after Forrester. And Bodie had found Cowley when Doyle had been trapped with the supposed Hanish. “When we’ve been...involved.”

Bodie nodded, his eyes never leaving Doyle’s. “He’s tested us before.”

Cowley had sent Bodie to investigate Ann Holly—and he’d made certain Doyle knew. “Dammit.” He looked away.

“We haven’t got a choice, sunshine.”

Doyle raised his eyes. “There are always choices.”

Bodie shook his head. “Maybe, but it’s the consequences that bite. I do remember what you said to me after Parsali—and it goes both ways. I won’t let you make that wrong choice.”

Doyle turned and looked out over the field. A large lorry had arrived beside the tank. “How do you know which choice is wrong?”

“Bloody hell, Doyle.” Bodie pushed away from the lorry and took a step closer to Doyle. “It was only a few week ago you were the one saying we had to be careful. You didn’t want to get pushed out of the mob.”

“I don’t. But—”

“Cowley.” Bodie’s voice was low.

Doyle looked around and saw Cowley walking towards them. Sod it. Bodie moved away from Doyle as Cowley arrived.

“We can go. They’re almost finished here—our role is certainly done.”

Back to HQ then?” Bodie asked.

“Yes. I’ve another job for you two, although you needn’t start it until tomorrow. I shall want your final reports on the Lawson affair tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Doyle kept his attention on Cowley as they walked towards the cars. He could detect no difference in his attitude towards them. “What’s the job?”

“Certain rumours have reached us about students who have a grudge against Colonel Lin Foh. They may act on the grudge.”

“That bastard.” Bodie looked pained.

“Yes, but he’s here for medical treatment. The government felt compassionate.”

“Which is more than he ever did,” Doyle said.

“That’s as may be. We’re required to protect him.” Cowley paused as he reached his car. “You did well today.” He opened the car door. “No need for an early start tomorrow—be in my office by 10.”

“Yes sir.” Bodie smiled as if everything was normal. “Thank you, sir.”

They watched as Cowley drove away, then turned towards the Capri. Had Cowley given them the morning because they’d proved— Doyle cut the thought off. Damn Bodie. They were silent as they climbed into the car. Bodie’s hand was on the key, but he didn’t start the car.

“Are we agreed?”

Doyle looked down at his hands. Bodie’s voice was in his head: _What we have, then._ Bodie had agreed when it had been Doyle’s fears. “How do you see this working?”

“We take extra precautions.” Doyle heard him breathe in. “We can’t spend every night together.”

Doyle nodded slowly. “And you want birds.”

“Ray—”

Doyle looked at him. “All right. But I don’t want to date. If that’s what you think it will take to prove—”

“It was just an example.”

“Right. Look, as long as we’re at the top of our game, Cowley will let us be. We’ll be discreet—more discreet. Like you said before, we both know how to keep secrets—even in this mob.”

“And if Cowley give us more responsibility? If we start moving up?’

“We’ll handle that when it happens.”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

His stomach twisted as he remembered Bodie saying that to him in the car park of The Sangster Arms. He’d been so bloody afraid that night.

Bodie started the car, but he didn’t release the brake. “What would you do, if he made you choose, Ray?”

 _I’m not leaving the mob. That’s our future._ “I’d choose you.”

Bodie’s eyes closed for a moment.

“Priorities change.” Doyle said it softly.

There was no expression on Bodie’s face. “Do they? We both need to be fucking sure of that.” He released the brake, and accelerated quickly.

_One wrong choice._

_No. I won’t let it happen._

Doyle looked out the side window as Bodie drove towards HQ. They’d saved the day. He’d caught the physical bomb Bodie had tossed him, but this had blindsided him. Bodie was right. Doyle had set the conditions when he’d said he wanted both Bodie and CI5. He still wanted both—but on their terms, not Cowley’s.

What were Bodie’s terms? Bodie had said the job was important. They were Cowley’s top team: copper and soldier. Bodie was a hell of a lot more wary of Cowley than he was—yet Bodie would follow orders. He’d prove himself to Cowley, even if it killed him. It was a soldier’s loyalty to his commander.

His loyalty to Doyle was no less strong. _You come after me. I stay for you._ They both knew why Bodie stayed in CI5, and it wasn’t just the importance— Doyle’s breath caught in his lungs. When Bodie had been convincing him about the importance of the job, he’d said a lot more about Doyle’s role than his own: _You never stop questioning, you never stop caring, and you never give up._ Christ. _You know why I stay._

Did Bodie want to stay in CI5? Would he tell Doyle the truth, if he asked? _The truth, Ray. All of it. Me, my past, the future._ Bodie had offered him that, and Doyle had said he wanted a future in CI5. He turned to look at Bodie, and saw the tired lines etched in his face—lines that didn’t fade with sleep. Bodie knew it was their balance—their partnership—that made them so valuable to CI5 and to Cowley. He knew Doyle needed him, just as he’d known Doyle would catch the cannister.

Doyle looked out the widow again, an ache deep inside him. This was the only profession they knew; the profession they both had chosen. The job was worth the compromises they made, at least for now. It had to be. It bloody well had to be.

Beside him, Bodie drove in silence.


	51. Coda to Discovered in a Graveyard

  
_He’ll make it._

Bodie sat beside Doyle’s bed. Mayli Kuolo was dead, Lin Foh was dead; Keate would survive, but not Henson. Doyle would live, and he'd make it back on the squad. The ventilator was gone, but Doyle was still surrounded by equipment and monitoring devices checking his blood pressure, oxygen saturation and heart rate. He was receiving oxygen, fluids, antibiotics, and God knew what else. He was more often asleep than awake, but the doctor was pleased with his progress. Bodie had never let himself think Doyle wouldn't make it. Cowley, however, had wondered about Doyle's survival from the outset.

_He'll make it._

_Will he? Does he want to? How strong's his will?_

The strongest—if Doyle knew his own mind. He wanted to reach out and touch Doyle, feel the beat of his heart, but he held himself still. Doyle's decision had been made without him. Cowley had organised a private room for Doyle, citing security reasons. Once Mayli had been identified, those reasons had vanished, but Doyle would remain in a secure room until he was discharged. That was Cowley's version of guilt.

_He's an idealist, as much as anyone can be given the job he does._

The deaths of Latowa and Charlie had weighed on Doyle, as Cowley was well aware. It was natural for Cowley to put that together with the aftermath of Diana Molner's killing, and conclude that Doyle was wrestling about the purposes behind the job. But Bodie knew it was more complicated than that.

_Priorities change._

Doyle had gone off on his own after the coroner's verdict. He'd said he'd needed to run errands, but it might as well have been one of his solitary bike rides. Bodie had thought they'd been in agreement after Lawson. He blinked. No. He'd known he'd put pressure on Doyle. _We both need to be fucking sure of that._ He'd thought their priorities needed to be the same. But with the image of Doyle lying still and helpless on the floor etched in his memory, he wasn't so sure.

He shifted in his chair, his eyes fixed on Doyle's face. Doyle had smiled at him in the ambulance—reassurance? It had felt like a farewell, and it had pierced him like a knife to his heart. He'd shouted at Doyle to get a response, get him back on the case, but to no avail. He'd followed the trolley into the hospital, but each step had seemed to take him further away from Doyle. He'd obeyed Cowley's orders and he'd gone to Doyle's flat. It had seemed empty, already bereft of the spirit of the man who was supposed to be there. All around him, Malone's boys had been doing their job. And he had remembered his own words to Lake, years ago: _Stand firm, mate._ It was all you could do when your partner was dead, or dying. All you could fucking do. Back at HQ, he'd met the sympathetic gazes of the other agents, his own expression under control. But he'd also run into Lake, and that look had nearly broken him.

Doyle stirred, opened his eyes, and his gaze found Bodie's. "They didn't beat me." His voice was weak.

Bodie frowned. "Who?"

"You told me not to let them." After a moment, Doyle's mouth quirked in a small smile. "Hello."

"Hello. Are you going to stick around for a bit this time?"

"Might do. Bored, are you?"

"No. I'm contemplating."

"Oh, God." Doyle looked up at the ceiling, then back at him. "What are you contemplating?"

"How you're going to make it up to me if Cowley sends us both to Macklin for a refresher."

Doyle groaned. "That's enough to keep me in hospital."

"Alas, they say you're going to be kicked out of here in a couple of weeks."

"Then I'll be fine and I won't need Macklin, will I?"

"Given that you were caught unawares—"

"Yeah, all right. Point taken." Doyle sighed.

"You had Cowley worried."

"Did I?"

"And the doctor. You weren't fighting, they said."

Doyle's gaze seemed unfocused, as if he was thinking back. "I had...dreams, I suppose you'd call them. Arguments with Cowley."

"Typical. Those aren't the sort of dreams you're supposed to have, Doyle."

Doyle grinned. "You were in them, too."

Bodie shuddered. "Don't start on that whole threesome thing again."

"Coward." Doyle's grin faded. "What happened to...the girl?"

"Mayli Kuolo. A student. Her father was imprisoned and killed—probably on Lin Foh's orders."

Doyle closed his eyes for a moment. "Revenge."

"She made the wrong choice." Bodie kept his tone neutral.

"One mistake."

"Two. She killed Lin Foh."

"What happened to her?"

"She died. Shot by Keate as she fled he hotel. She shot him, too. He'll live. Henson was killed with Lin Foh."

Doyle nodded, his gaze on the bed.

"She asked about you, in the ambulance. I told her you'd live. She seemed...relieved."

Doyle raised his eyes. "You were with her?"

"Till the end. She made the wrong choice, but she faced up to the consequences." He'd held her hand so she wouldn't die alone. "She did have beautiful eyes."

"Bodie." Doyle wet his lip with his tongue. "I was fighting."

Bodie's stomach tightened. "I know. You were—arguing." He looked away. "Ray—"

"I didn't think I cared enough." Bodie looked back at him, and saw the intensity in Doyle's gaze. "It has to be worth it." He moved his hand a few inches towards Bodie.

Bodie took Doyle's hand in his, felt Doyle's fingers settle against his wrist. "What has to be worth it?"

Doyle stared at him. "I need to know the truth. Do you want to stay in CI5?"

Bodie held himself still, very aware of Doyle's fingers on his pulse. "Cowley asked me the same thing."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing that would work for you." He breathed in and out. He knew what Cowley would want him say. He didn't know what he should say. "If you had died, I would have stayed in CI5."

Doyle's eyes flickered.

"I'm not sure I would have made it." He rubbed Doyle's hand with his thumb. "If you weren't here—if I'd never met you—I would probably have stayed in CI5."

"But?" Doyle's voice was a whisper.

"But it's...fucking complicated." He sat back, taking his hand from Doyle's.

"It's simple. It's just saying what you want."

"What I want?" He felt something like a laugh rising inside, but it wasn't humour. "Christ." He looked back at Doyle. "I want you to live. I want you to _want_ to live."

"I'm here."

"Yeah. But it was a bloody close thing, wasn't it? The doctor—"

"The doctor wasn't inside my head."

"What the fuck were you arguing about, Doyle?"

"The usual." He gestured, as if impatient. "It doesn't matter. I came back for you."

"Oh, ta. Am I supposed to be grateful?" And suddenly the anger he hadn't let himself feel was right there in his throat, choking him.

"No, but—"

"You have to do it for yourself, Ray. Not me, or Cowley, or—"

"I know that, you bloody, great—" Doyle broke off, gasping as he tried to sit up.

Bodie was out of the chair and next to him in an instant. "Settle down." He put a gentle but retraining hand on Doyle's shoulder. "Easy, now."

"Dammit." Doyle was breathing too fast.

"You're going to set off the alarms, and then where will we be, eh?" Bodie rubbed Doyle's shoulder, relieved to feel him relaxing.

"Okay." Doyle looked at him, his eyes wide. "I was arguing with Cowley about the job, going round and round. It was like I didn't care."

"You do."

"And you were there. You said don't let them beat me. It all fell into place." Doyle sounded as if he was running out of steam. "She was out for revenge—justice didn't matter as much. It wasn't my fault."

Bodie smiled, and his hand tightened on Doyle's shoulder. "It takes you getting shot to realise—"

"Slow learner." Doyle's eyes searched his face. "But you—"

Doyle broke off at a sudden noise at the door. A woman entered the room. she was dressed in a warm coat, but her legs were bare. She wasn't a nurse. Bodie turned towards her, his hand reaching for his gun.

"Christ." Quickly, Doyle added: It's all right, Bodie. I know her." He looked at the woman. "What are you doing here?" Bodie stood by Doyle, his eyes on the woman. He didn't move to intercept her as she approached the bed.

"Oh, nice." She glanced at Bodie, then back at Doyle. "Who's he, then?"

"He's my partner." Doyle's eyes narrowed. "They called—"

"A Mr Cowley called Mum. She asked me to come and see you." Her eyes took in all the paraphernalia surrounding Doyle. "What have you done, Ray?"

"I'm fine."

"She's worried."

"Tell her I'm fine."

The woman's hand tightened on her bag. "I can see that."

Doyle sighed. "Leave it out, Cheryl. I was shot. I'm as well as can be expected. Ask Bodie." Doyle sounded tired, as he hadn't before.

Cheryl looked at Bodie. He walked around the bed towards her. "Ray's partner. And you...?" He held his hand out.

She took his hand in a weak grip. "Cheryl Miller. Can't expect Ray to do it proper. I'm his sister." She was short, with muddy brown hair, but she had Ray's green eyes. She turned back to Doyle. Her expression softened. "Oh, Ray. We might have known. This job—"

"Don't start." Doyle shifted on the bed, and grimaced.

"There, see? You're in no shape at all." She reached to straighten the pillow under Doyle's head.

"I don't...need—"

"You're not going to be able to manage on your own, for once. You'll need someone to do for you when—"

"That's all taken care of." Bodie smiled. He took Cheryl's elbow in a gentle grip, turning her towards the door. "Mr Cowley always arranges for his agents to be well taken care of after an incident." He ignored Doyle's snort.

"Oh, an 'incident,' is it? Ray needs his—"

"His rest, just now." He urged her towards the door.

"But you're here."

"I have to debrief him." He smiled apologetically.

"That bloody job—"

"Yes. But he is receiving the finest care. Well, you can see that for yourself." She looked at him, doubt clearly in her face. "I'll ring you, shall I? Tell you how he is, and when he's up to receiving visitors?" He half-expected Doyle to object, but he was quiet.

"Yes, that would be nice." She peered past him towards Doyle. "Mum worries. He always was a handful—getting into trouble—"

Bodie nodded. 'Yes, I'm sure he was." He ushered her out of the room. "I'll call soon." He closed the door behind her.

"Bloody cheek," Doyle said. "Throwing my family out." He smiled.

"You've never introduced me." He walked back to Doyle. "In fact, you still haven't."

"Be thankful." Doyle's eyes drifted shut.

"I will be when you're through this stage. Going to sleep, are you? I keep thinking it's me."

"It is. I can sleep with you here."

"Ah. Then I'll stay for a bit, shall I?"

"Cowley...." There was a crease in Doyle's forehead.

"Says I can be useful by visiting you. That's a change of tune. He wouldn't let me stay before."

"Short...leash?" Doyle's mouth twitched.

"Something like that. Go to sleep, sunshine." He waited a few moments, then turned away.

"Bodie." Doyle's voice was stronger, and he looked around to see Doyle's eyes open. Doyle blinked.

"What it is?" Bodie moved back to the side of the bed.

"I said I'd choose you."

Bodie smiled, although it hurt. "I know." That was the problem, as welcome as it was. "It's not your fault, Ray."

Doyle's eyes closed. "I'll work it out."

"Yeah. Like a dog with a bone, you are." And he'd have two weeks to work it out for himself, first.

"Just...stay."

"What else would I do?" He waited, but it seemed Doyle had sunk into a drugged sleep once again. Bodie watched him breathe, and didn't let himself think of the future.

 

******

 

"Well, how does it feel to be amongst the land of the living, then, mate?" Doyle glanced at him. "Well, you were technically dead, you know."

"Well, now I've done it once, it'll be easier next time." They turned towards their new block.

"Hang on." Bodie touched Doyle's arm. "Don't be so keen. It's my turn next."

"Nah. I think you should die a virgin."

"Sad. Anyway, you had all that time off in bed—birds fluttering around you."

"It's amazing how off-putting a woman with a bed pan can be."

"Yeah. Remember that nurse I dated?"

Doyle rolled his eyes. "Which one? They're like air hostesses with you."

"No they're not. I only ever dated the one."

Doyle looked at him.

"While I was in CI5, that is. I'm not counting before CI5." They reached the building Cowley had moved them into. It wasn't far from Doyle's old flat.

"So which one was this, then?" Doyle dug in his jeans pocket for his key.

"Helen. You know, after I was stabbed."

"Oh. _That_ nurse."

"You didn't like her?"

Doyle fitted the key to the lock. "She was fine. You walked out on me with her." He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

"No, I didn't." Bodie followed him. "We weren't having it off then."

"We might have done. Right then, that very day." Doyle led the way to the lift.

Bodie thought back. "You wanted me to go to a football match with you and Tommy."

"I rest my case—we needed a chaperone, you see." Doyle entered the lift.

"Oh." Bodie sidled closer to Doyle as the lift door closed. "We don't now."

"Well, just _now_ , there wouldn't be much point, would there?" Doyle sounded gloomy.

Bodie sighed. "See? Hospitals. Nurses. Enough to put you off for life."

"God, I hope not."

"You and me both, mate."

They exited the lift and walked to the flat. It made sense for Bodie to move in with Doyle for the weeks he'd be working on his rehab. Bodie had been in agreement with Cowley's arguments, but he also suspected there was more to Cowley's benevolence than Doyle's physical well being. At the moment, it didn't matter. He had no intention of leaving Doyle on his own.

Once he was inside the flat, Bodie set Doyle's laundry down on the floor, and turned to set the locks. Doyle was already dealing with it. He glanced at Bodie, a challenge in his eyes. Bodie lifted his chin. "I will be checking."

Doyle's mouth tightened, then relaxed. "Fair enough."

"Will you jump on me if I ask if you're tired?"

"I wish I could jump on you." Doyle rubbed his face with his hand. "Yeah. I'm tired."

"Take a nap. I'll deal with dinner."

"Beans and cheese on toast?" Doyle's smile was in his eyes.

"Omelette."

"You have been hiding your talents."

"I am fast running through my repertoire. Go on, then." He nodded towards the bedrooms.

Doyle hesitated. "Look, I know it's not much fun for you. But...." He trailed off as he glanced towards the bedroom. He looked tense.

Bodie took him into his arms, and kissed him. "I'd rather have a lie down myself."

Doyle pressed his face against Bodie's shoulder. "Fuck." He sounded fretful.

Bodie laughed. "There's ambition for you. Come on." He picked up the laundry bag and led the way to Doyle's bedroom.

"You know I won't be like this for long." Doyle scowled as he unfastened his jeans.

"Dressed?" Bodie pulled off his jacket.

"Weak."

He moved towards Doyle. "And here I thought you were just being reasonable for once."

"Berk." Doyle sighed.

Bodie helped him finish undressing. The scar from the incision was livid. "I'll put some lotion on that." Doyle grunted. Bodie removed his own clothes as Doyle turned down the bed. "Do the ribs still bother you?"

"Everything bothers me." Doyle eased into the bed. "They said the ribs might ache for weeks."

Bodie hesitated as he was about to follow him. "Maybe—"

"Get the fuck in here."

"You were saying something about being weak?" Bodie kissed Doyle's shoulder as he settled next to him.

"Shut up."

Bodie gently bit Doyle's shoulder.

"Bloody vampire." Doyle relaxed against him. He let out a long sigh.

He was home; they were _home_. He tightened his arms around Doyle.

"It's always the aftermath, isn't it?" Doyle's voice was like an anchor, or maybe a beacon.

Bodie nodded against Doyle's shoulder.

"Let's clear it now, eh?" He pulled back a little. "Whatever we do, we do together."

"Ray." He closed his eyes.

"No." Doyle's fingers touched Bodie's face. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Bodie obeyed him. Doyle's eyes were serious—tired-looking, but clear.

"In or out—we go together."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

Bodie stayed silent as he wondered how to explain.

"You said you'd be in CI5 without me."

Bodie traced a pattern on Doyle's chest. "Cowley told me there's a future for us in CI5. It's just like you said."

"But?" Doyle's voice was soft.

"He said we had to manage our...vulnerabilities."

"When was this?"

"After Diana Molner." He took a deep breath. "He told me to convince you to stay—remind you the job was worth it."

"And you followed orders."

Bodie nodded.

"It helped me."

"Did it? But there you were, going round and round, you said, about the job."

"Call it a character flaw, if you must."

"It's your vulnerability—your idealism. Your self worth is connected with the job. If you question your role, you question yourself."

"That's nothing new. But something has changed." Doyle nuzzled Bodie's neck.

"What?"

"You got me on track after Diana Molner—and this time as well. I told you, it all fell into place. I can see more clearly because of you."

Bodie closed his eyes.

"Only one problem." Doyle raised his head and Bodie opened his eyes. "Your vulnerability is me."

Bode held himself still. "Nothing new in that, either."

"Do you remember what you said to me when we first met? All that about how you couldn't afford to give a damn?"

"You proved me wrong, didn't you? On and off the job."

"Maybe, but I'm not going to be responsible for keeping you in CI5. It's—"

"It's not your choice."

Doyle narrowed his eyes. "We go or stay together."

"Yes. But we both make the decision." He took in a deep breath. "And right now we need to stay."

"Because of me."

"Yes."

"Bodie—"

"Ray, you're going to have to live with this. It's who you are, and who I am." He looked at him, and brushed Doyle's cheek with his fingers. "It's my choice, sunshine. Just like it was yours to come back."

"Your influence."

"And yours on me."

Doyle closed his eyes for a moment. "You make it bloody difficult, Bodie."

Bodie let himself grin. "Yes, I do. Fortunately, you're a strong-willed, stubborn, bloody-minded—"

Doyle kissed him, but Bodie took control of it, gently pushing Doyle onto his back.

Bodie broke the kiss. "I want you awake enough to enjoy the omelette."

"All that work, eh?" Doyle smiled, but his eyes searched Bodie's face. "You know I'd choose you."

"Yes. That's why I'm not letting it come to that."

"This thing between us." Doyle touched Bodie's face. "It's permanent."

He hadn't realised he'd wanted to hear that from Doyle. He smiled. "I told you that a long time ago. In a car park."

"Just after you'd been beaten. Typical."

"I've a thick head."

"And I'm a slow learner. Quite a future in front of us."

"The only one I'd choose." He lay down beside Doyle, his arm resting on the side of Doyle's chest, where he could feel the living warmth of him.

"You're still a great, big softie." Doyle's voice was a murmur. His hand rested on Bodie.

"Shut up, Doyle." Bodie closed his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he knew he'd sleep soundly.


	52. Coda to Spy Probe

"Dammit.... Doyle!" Bodie was gasping, but there was strength in his voice.

The taste of Bodie was in his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to go down on him again, feel the full thrust of Bodie's cock in his mouth and throat, but Doyle sat back on his heels. "Feeling it, are you?"

"You.... Bugger." Bodie panted. He was slumped against the wall, his trousers around his ankles, his shirt askew, but still on. Doyle had pulled Bodie's jacket and holster off. His own jumper and jacket were on the floor behind him, along with his jeans. "C'mere." Bodie's hand grasped Doyle's shoulder, but Doyle slid away from him.

"Yeah, you want it." He stroked Bodie's cock, but gave him nothing more, his eyes fixed on Bodie's face.

"You—" Bodie lunged at him, and Doyle sprang away. He was slowed by having been on the floor, but Bodie was hampered by the trousers. He got as far as the hallway, with the front door in sight, before Bodie brought him down.

Doyle landed hard, but he fought back. If Bodie thought he'd been hurt, all his work would be wasted. He was damned if he was going to let that happen. He twisted as Bodie tried to use his weight to subdue him, and heard Bodie gasp as Doyle nearly kneed him. "Sorry." He didn't try to keep the laugh from his voice.

"Bastard." Bodie got a firm grip on Doyle's arm. Doyle tried to pull away, but Bodie tugged him back, trapping one of Doyle's legs with his own as he slid on top of Doyle. He bit Doyle's nipple.

"Christ!" Doyle bucked, but Bodie rode it out, and improved his position of control.

"Don't know what game you're playing, but—"

Doyle took his mouth. Bodie responded, and then relaxed his hold. Doyle immediately tried to roll them, but Bodie blocked his move.

"Oh, no." Bodie's smile radiated aggression. "You had your chance—more than your chance. It's my turn now."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Bodie kissed him this time, while his hands caressed Doyle's chest, and his cock rubbed against Doyle's, transferring heat and urgency. Doyle accepted Bodie's tongue in his mouth, but he pushed back with this own. He moved his hand down Bodie's body, and slid a finger into his anus. Bodie jolted at the contact, and his time, Doyle was successful in rolling them, so he ended on top.

"Have to prove it." He was breathing quickly, and his cock ached. He looked down at Bodie's flushed face and glittering eyes. "Softie—" He'd expected Bodie's reaction, but he still found himself on his back, with Bodie on top of him, slightly dazed from contact with the wall. Bodie, to his joy, didn't seem to have noticed, and was making it hard for him to think about anything other than the drive to completion. He groaned as Bodie sucked him, and tried to push forward, but Bodie was setting the pace and he prevented it. His mouth fell open, and his head tipped back as Bodie's finger explored and widened him. He writhed, and then the warm pressure around his cock suddenly disappeared. "Dammit.... Bodie."

"Your rules, Doyle." He heard the humour in Bodie's voice, but paid more attention to the way his legs were being lifted over Bodie's shoulders. Finally, _finally_.

"Good game." Doyle reached to touch Bodie's face, feeling the roughness of his beard coming up.

"I won." Bodie's eyes closed as he made his initial thrust into Doyle, his stroke firm but not violent.

"Don't be—ahh—so...sure." Doyle panted as Bodie filled him, and his hand went to his own cock.

"All right?"

"Yeah." Doyle shifted, and felt Bodie start to move within him.

"Crazy bastard. I was ready to kill you."

"Hmm. This is better punishment than the last time."

Bodie stilled.

Doyle looked at him. "Going to string me along now, like I did you? Harder to do when you're—"

"What are you on about?" Bodie's hand rubbed Doyle's thigh.

"Williams."

Bodie's expression turned blank. "I wasn't—"

"Oh yes, you were." Doyle squeezed his muscles, pleased with the tremor that twisted Bodie's face. Bodie pushed into him with enough force to cause Doyle to gasp. "Yeah. You need to move, don't you?" Doyle smiled. "Distraction." Bodie took hold of his cock, and Doyle closed his eyes. He loved the feel of Bodie's gun-callused hand on him—knowing and strong.

"Worked, didn't it?" Bodie's voice was low, and his pace quickened within and around Doyle.

"May...be." Doyle's breath caught as Bodie twisted inside him. "Oh. Try and make me...forget, then."

"Doyle."

"Come on." He opened his eyes, and he looked right at Bodie. "Make us both forget." He pushed back against Bodie. "Please."

"Christ." Bodie murmured the word, then surged within him, moving strongly.

Doyle put his hands back, and his chest arched as he braced against the wall. He held Bodie's gaze, saw the rapture that took him as restraint was left behind, along with fear, and the smell of milk and blood. "Yes. _Yes_." He barely recognised his own voice. Bodie's cock was searing, blazing a trail through him like a bullet—like rebirth. Bodie grunted as he thrust; his rhythm was fast and merciless. "Get it out, you bastard. All of it. In me...." His cock needed more. Bodie's hand was still on him, but unmoving. Doyle moved one of his braced hands, and didn't care as his head was pushed hard against the wall on Bodie's next thrust. He reached for his cock, but Bodie's hand grabbed his, and held on tight.

Bodie gave another powerful thrust, as if seeking to bury himself in the heart of Doyle, and then he shouted and held still. Doyle watched him. His heart pounded, and his eyes felt as if they were burning. Bodie was held captive and helpless by his body—by Doyle, by all that was between them. And then Bodie breathed, and his gaze refocused on Doyle. He smiled. There was nothing of the predator in his expression now.

Doyle let out a long sigh, raised their joined hands, and kissed Bodie's knuckles. Bodie eased out of him. Doyle closed his eyes, breathing deeply, knowing that soon—and he gasped as Bodie took his cock into his mouth. There was no finesse in the joining or his reaction—he was too close to hold back. He poured himself into Bodie's throat, and it was his turn to hold onto Bodie's hand—an anchor in a whirlwind. Bodie was the only sane thing in his world—just as he'd been the only one who mattered in Doyle's dreams when he lay dying. His anchor, his hope.

When he gathered his senses again, he found himself flat on his back, with Bodie lying alongside him, still breathing a little fast. Doyle let go of Bodie's hand, and patted him on the arm. He couldn't muster up the energy to speak.

"God." Bodie's voice was hoarse. "I'm getting too old for this, Doyle."

"Nah, eternal youth, that's you." There was no strength in his own voice.

"The neighbours are going to wonder about us."

"They already do." Doyle took in a deep breath and let it out. "It doesn't seem to bother Cowley."

Bodie was silent for a moment. "How do you reckon that?"

"He hasn't moved us, has he?" He pulled himself up, and leaned back against the wall. Bodie stayed where he was. Doyle regarded him for a long moment. "Well, I didn't break."

Bodie didn't look at him. His body seemed tense.

"I made it through the op—even with my partner being a prat."

"Leave it, Doyle."

"And you didn't drown."

Bodie rolled his eyes at him.

"Don't give me that. You lost your balance. Macklin would've—"

"We've not seen Macklin, have we?" Bodie pushed himself up and onto his feet.

"I've never known you to be so eager to see our Brian. You really didn't think I was ready, did you?"

Bodie glanced at him. "You proved me wrong. That's all that matters." He turned and headed for the living room.

Doyle sighed, and let his head drop forward for a moment. He climbed to his feet and followed Bodie. He found him pulling on his trousers, although he'd removed his shirt. Doyle eyed his own clothes, and then Bodie's closed expression. "I'm going to take a shower." He turned and retreated—strategically, he hoped. He took a quick shower, and found Bodie waiting for him as he stepped out. So, maybe they would talk about it.

Bodie handed him a towel. He was leaning against the basin, as if he'd been there a while.

Doyle studied him as he used the towel. "You're going to have to live with this, you know. The same as me. It's what the job is."

Bodie's lashes covered his eyes.

"I didn't need the extra reminder with Williams' gun on me."

"Didn't you?"

"Fuck off." Doyle left the bathroom, and walked to his bedroom—their bedroom, since the day he'd come home from hospital. He stood for a moment in the room, hearing only silence in the flat. He moved to the chest of drawers, pulled out pants and jeans, and dressed. As he zipped the jeans, he heard a sound by the door. Bodie was there, his eyes dark.

"They found out about you."

"My cover was blown. They had inside information, in case you've forgotten."

"Do you know what I—" Bodie closed his mouth; his gaze dropped for a moment. "They had you, Doyle. Twig and Ferris. They'd've been happy to pull the damn trigger. If I hadn't been there—"

"I know the feeling. Only you had explosives strapped around you—and you fucking ran from me."

Bodie blinked. "That wasn't the same—"

Doyle stalked forward. "Wasn't it?" He held Bodie's gaze, and it was Bodie who looked away. Doyle stopped close in front of Bodie. "I made it through the initiation. I made it into their organisation. It wasn't my fault my cover was blown."

"I was already in. Why did you—"

"Cowley's orders."

"Bloody Cowley." Bodie turned away.

"Yeah," Doyle said softly. "And that's part of this, isn't it? He ordered me in."

Bodie looked at him. "It was too soon."

"For you?"

Bodie hesitated, and then he sighed. "Maybe." He moved back to Doyle and put his hands on his sides. "I was...." He trailed off.

"Which worried you more? That I'd fail or that I'd make it?"

A smile flitted across Bodie's face. "Both." The smile faded. “It seemed like Cowley was pushing it—and we had no choice." His hand moved on Doyle in a slow caress.

"Sometimes we don't. It's who I am; it's who we are."

"I know." Bodie's finger lightly brushed against the scar from the surgery.

"No more power games on the job, Bodie."

His hand stilled. "It wasn't—"

"What else was it? Making me wait, while—"

"I fucking froze, that's what it was! I didn't know what to do, dammit. Caught between—" Bodie broke off, grabbed Doyle by his shoulders. "And there you were, so calm after being so sodding careless—"

"I was made! Hazard of the job, mate. You know—"

Bodie suddenly turned them, thrusting Doyle against the wall. "I'm not— You didn't set your bloody second locks."

Doyle breathed quickly, adrenaline fuelling him, surprised by the sudden attack. He met Bodie's eyes, and swallowed at what he saw. "All right."

Bodie's hands were clenched on his shoulders. "One mistake. One careless, fucking—"

"All right!" Doyle pushed Bodie away, then walked a few steps into the room.

"The job I can take. But sometimes, Ray, it's like you don't...care if you live or die."

"Not on the job." Not when Bodie was at risk.

"Do you think that matters?" There was disbelief in Bodie's voice, and something close to pain.

Doyle turned towards him. _His anchor, his hope._ "Not any more. It's not going to happen any more. I've got a responsibility now. I chose it." He moved forward, more certain with every step. "I'll remember the bloody locks." He stood once more in front of Bodie, holding his gaze. "Trust me."

 _Trust me._ Words spoken long ago—a betrayal and a redemption. He saw the memory of it in Bodie's eyes.

Doyle touched Bodie's face with his fingertips. "But we've got to do something about you and Cowley."

And that damned blank look swept away all expression. "I don't know what you're on about." Bodie started to turn but Doyle grabbed his arm.

"You froze, you said." He tightened his grip. "Caught between—what? The job and me. Cowley's expectations?"

Bodie wrenched his arm free. "I told you it was my responsibility. My—"

"Choice. Yeah." Doyle chewed his lip. "But that doesn't mean we can't compromise."

"What do you mean?"

"We negotiate. With Cowley."

"Negotiate what?'

"We tell him about us. Wait, you bloody—" He grabbed hold of Bodie's arm again, and pulled him back. "We tell him. Of course the job comes first; his orders come first. But if he knows about us, then he knows our weakness and our strength. He'll know what to expect—no more hiding, no proving anything to him. And no fear of what he'll do if he finds out. It takes us out of limbo."

Bodie's arm was tense in his grip. "And he'll ask us what we'd do if ordered to sacrifice each other."

"We make a judgement call."

"He won't buy it. We can't be conditional soldiers."

"You've always said I'm not a soldier."

"I am."

"Look, either he trusts us, or he doesn't. This way, it's out in the open. You don't have to fucking prove yourself to him."

"He'll keep testing us."

"That's part of the negotiation."

"He won't go for it." Bodie's eyes narrowed. "What if he kicks us out? What then, hot shot? This is what you wanted—"

"Oh, no," Doyle said, hard-voiced. "You can't have it all your way, sunshine. You can't say it's your decision to stay for me, and then blame me for it.”

Bodie stared at him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You were damn close to it. Look, If we get kicked out, then that's what happens. I can live with that."

Bodie tried to pull away from him, but Doyle didn't let go. "It's working as it is—we decided on caution."

"You froze."

Sod it, Doyle." This time, Bodie did break free, but he only took a step away before he turned back. "You've already made up your mind, haven't you? Already decided on your own—just like you bloody well decided between living and dying on your own. Just like you always—"

"Not this time." Doyle held himself still, and kept his voice quiet.

Bodie turned his head towards him.

"It has to be our decision—our terms." He looked away for a moment. "I think it's the right thing to do, but it's not my decision alone to make."

"If I convince you— We can keep it as it is?"

Doyle nodded. "Yeah." And he'd do his best to shield Bodie from the consequences. Somehow. "Or I convince you and we stop living under the fucking sword of Damocles."

"Telling Cowley won't end that."

"It'll help. It's a compromise—on all sides."

Bodie looked down.

Doyle walked to him, put his hands around his neck, and kissed him. He took heart from Bodie's response. Gradually, he ended the kiss. "It's not an ultimatum, and you don't need to decide tonight."

Bodie put a hand on Doyle's cheek. "I know it seems daft to you. I've disobeyed Cowley before. But this—setting it out ahead of time.... I don't know."

"It's easier to ask for forgiveness?"

"Maybe." Bodie traced Doyle's cheek bone. Would you sacrifice me?"

Doyle swallowed, but his eyes were steady. "You already know the answer—as I know yours."

Bodie's eyes were bleak.

"It's why we don't need to be afraid of Cowley." Doyle tilted his head. "It's what happens when you start giving a damn."

Bodie pulled him into his arms. "And yet that's a reason to live."

"Yeah." After a few moments, Doyle pulled away. "Tell me when you've decided. I'll—"

Bodie shook his head. " _We'll_ decide." He grinned briefly. "Maybe we'll fight about it. But I want to think about it first."

Doyle let a slow smile out. "Oh, it's dangerous when you do that."

"I'm a careful man."

"I've never noticed."

"And you a copper."

"Your beauty must have blinded me."

Bodie sighed. "Wish I could believe that."

Doyle snorted. He brushed Bodie's stomach with his fingers. "Let's go out to eat, eh? Your choice."

Bodie narrowed his eyes. "Is this a bribe?"

"More of a...reward."

Bodie raised an eyebrow. "For...?"

"Losing control—at bloody last." Doyle grinned. "Go and take a shower. I'll make the reservation."

"Feeling smug, are you?"

"Well, my plan seems to have worked a treat."

"You put me through that, just so you...?"

"Yeah." Doyle let all his satisfaction show.

"You know what you are, don't you?"

"I know what you think I am."

Bodie's smile made Doyle's stomach clench. "You'll find out."


	53. Coda to Cry Wolf

"Oh, God."

Bodie glanced at Henry Laughlin, who looked like he was about to face a firing squad. "It'll work out. She's a remarkable woman."

"And what would you know about it?"

Bodie looked away. Doyle was walking towards them with Mrs Grant. They appeared deep in conversation. "Nothing."

After a pause, Henry spoke again. "I'm sorry."

Bodie shrugged. "None of my business."

"No. No, you and your colleague saved Susan. It was me who brought the danger to her. My own daughter."

Bodie hesitated, then spoke. "You never thought to tell her? All the time you were working with her...."

"Of course I thought about it, but—" Laughlin looked down. "What would be the point? It would just upset her—she's got her life, her...mother."

"She'd want to know."

"Even now." Laughlin looked towards the house. "Should she know?"

"Yes—not just for what she's just been through, but because—" He broke off. It wasn't his concern.

"She has every reason to hate me."

Bodie's gaze returned to Doyle and Mrs Grant, now moving towards the roses. Doyle seemed at ease with Mrs Grant, talking quietly with her, clearly admiring the garden. Something tightened inside Bodie, and he didn't know why. He wondered if Doyle ever walked like that with his own mother. And suddenly, almost as if he felt Bodie's gaze, Doyle glanced back at him. Bodie took in a breath, and turned back to Laughlin. "Look, it is none of my business. But there was a time I'd've given anything to meet my father. It's hard on kids—not knowing." Laughlin looked away, and then his gaze became fixed and Bodie looked around as well. Cowley and Susan were walking towards them.

Susan, carrying the box of tapes, approached Laughlin. Bodie knew her well enough to see the nervousness in her eyes, yet her back was straight. He'd admired her poise from the start, but especially after the fight by his car. He had seen the fear in her, but she hadn't acknowledged it. Now she was dealing with an even greater fear, in a way. Still, she would manage. Bodie obeyed Cowley's unspoken order, and turned with him to walk towards Doyle and Mrs Grant.

Yet he couldn't resist a final look at father and daughter, and turned back. Mrs. Grant's voice carried to him as he watched: "This young man's been advising me about my roses, George."

Henry was talking quietly to Susan, who had her eyes on the ground. Susan would be all right; Bodie wasn't as certain about Laughlin.

"Really?" Behind him, Cowley sounded astonished.

It was funny how perspective changed. He'd never thought about meeting his father from his father's perspective. He saw Susan raise her head, and speak to Laughlin, her eyes on his.

Doyle's voice washed over him. "Didn't know I've got green fingers, did you?"

Laughlin reached out and took Susan's arm, and they strolled together towards the house. Susan had integrity and courage. She wouldn't crumble when faced with adversity. You couldn't teach that kind of bone-deep self-reliance. The conversation he'd had with her echoed in his mind:

_That explains quite a lot._

_What?_

_Well, you being a loner._

_Like you?_

_Possibly._

And yet self-reliance wasn't everything, as Susan might come to discover. Bodie turned and followed Doyle and the others. They were walking through the pergola, but the conversation had shifted to herbaceous borders. Cowley seemed to be following the discussion closely, although he didn't contribute, and his eyes rested rather frequently on Mrs Grant's face. Cowley had told them he was an old friend of the family, but Bodie wondered if there was more than old friendship at work. He would compare notes with Doyle afterwards, when they were on their own. Mrs Grant had invited them to stay for dinner, but there would be the drive back to London, and the night at Doyle's flat.

_Well, you being a loner._

_Like you?_

He remembered very clearly a night when he had looked at street lights through a widow in a strange, cold house, and had known he had only himself to rely upon. It had been an oddly freeing thought: no one to worry about him; no one to worry about. It had made him self-reliant, strong, and he had never intended to change. But as he strolled after the others he recognised within himself an ever-growing contentment. A year ago, he would have been impatient for Cowley to dismiss them—impatient to go home with Doyle. Yet now he was happy enough watching Doyle charm Mrs Grant, and he was in no hurry for them to leave. He knew exactly where he belonged.

"Are you chilled, Margaret?" Cowley was addressing Mrs Grant.

She smiled. "Yes, I believe I am."

"Come, we'll go inside."

"Oh, but." She looked at Doyle. "Do take a look at the hydrangeas."

"I will." Doyle grinned at Bodie. "I'll take Bodie with me—it'll be a treat for him."

Bodie rolled his eyes. "Thank you, mate."

Mrs Grant laughed. "I'm sure it will be. Dinner should be ready in an hour." She turned and accepted Cowley's escort back towards the house.

Bodie looked at Doyle. "What exactly is a hydrangea?"

Doyle nodded towards the bottom of the garden. "Come and be educated."

Bodie fell into step beside him. "Green fingers, eh?"

Doyle slanted a look at him. "If you mention that to the lads...."

"Would I?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you would. Just keep in mind, I know where your rubber duck is."

"You'd take a hostage?"

"Absolutely."

"I don't know. Involving innocents—Cowley won't like that."

Doyle stopped before a large flowering shrub. "Well, what do you think?"

"it's pink." Bodie turned his attention back to Doyle. "Where did you learn all this gardening lark, then?"

"My granddad.

"Oh, yeah? Had a little patch of his own, did he?"

"Yeah. Mind you, I think he taught me more because he knew it would get right up my dad's nose. They didn't get on."

"Ah."

"He died when I was eleven." Doyle gazed out across the field below the garden. The ground sloped, and they could follow the line of fields to a village in the distance. "Never had much of an opportunity to garden again. Mum wasn't interested." He turned his head to look at Bodie. "Reckon that house of yours in the village will have a garden?"

Bodie smiled. "It seems likely."

"That's all right, then." Doyle looked out across the fields again.

Bodie let the silence grow, comfortable with it. He felt at ease—as if he'd been running fast, and now could slow the pace. Except the tension that was missing was so old, so much a part of him, that he'd forgotten it existed. He'd been proud of his self-sufficiency, and yet he'd joined a mercenary band, the Army, the SAS, and CI5. He'd been bind to the pattern, knowing only that he'd been restless to move on, yet always sought a group to join. He'd stayed in CI5. He'd thought it was because of the organisation, and Cowley's leadership. Certainly, Cowley was the best man he'd ever worked for. And he trusted him as he'd trusted few other commanders. But Bodie knew the limits of that trust; he understood the parameters.

_Trust me._

Doyle's trust—Doyle's expectations—knew no such boundaries. It was that trust that fed this feeling of contentment. He was no longer a loner. "I never had a garden—not even a window box." He knew Doyle looked at him, but he kept his own eyes on the village in the distance. "My mum might've liked one, but she was too sick when I was young to do much more than the basics. I brought her a rose once—stole it from a garden down the road. She told me it was wrong, but she smiled. Anyway, after she died I went to live with my aunt and uncle. I reckon they didn't have much use for gardens."

"Or for little boys?"

"No, strangely enough." Bodie shrugged. "They were fine. They kept me fed and clothed. We pretty much went our separate ways—which suited us all."

"You can't afford to give a damn." Doyle's voice was soft.

"It made sense then." He turned and looked at Doyle. The sunlight was slanting down, casting the world in golden hues, and illuminating the green in Doyle's eyes. He remembered something he'd told Doyle, when they'd talked about Frances Cottingham: _She had something that was just hers. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. And it was her secret._ Doyle's reply had shown his understanding: _Like a kid hiding hiding his treasures in a box._

But they weren't kids any more. He wanted to touch Doyle, yet he held himself still. It wasn't necessary to touch to feel connected. "We could make it out of CI5."

"Yes." Doyle's face was unrevealing, but his tone was certain.

"We should tell Cowley." And he'd said it. Their future was decided.

"All right."

"Oh, you're just going to take this calmly, are you?"

Doyle grinned.

"Yeah, all right." Bodie grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him towards the house. "Gloat if you like."

"It wouldn't be seemly. Anyway—" Doyle stopped them with a hand on Bodie's arm. "I don't take your worries lightly."

He had someone to care about; he had someone of his own. "But you still bring me liver sausage when you're annoyed with me."

Doyle tilted his head. "And you charm our assignment."

"Under orders." He couldn't hide a smile. They started walking again towards the house.

"The poor girl."

"Nah, she was fine. We had a lovely time—and I slept on the sofa."

"Only you could make that sound too virtuous."

"She thought you were the good looking one."

Doyle smiled. "Did she?"

"Don't get any ideas. You've got plans for tonight."

"Have I?" They walked through the pergola. There was no sign of the others.

"Yes. You're going to show me how delighted you are with me."

"Well, that shouldn't take long."

"I'm going to take a lot of convincing."

"Two minutes."

Bodie stopped walking. "Two minutes?"

"To throw out the rest of the liver— Bodie!" Doyle's laugh as he evaded Bodie's pounce was as carefree as any Bodie had heard. He grinned as he chased after Doyle, and finally brought him down just before the side entrance to the house.

"Okay, truce," Doyle said, a little breathlessly.

"You don't want this to end as it did the last time?" Bodie bounced on him.

"Bodie!" Doyle hissed at him.

"Spoilsport." Bodie rolled off him.

Doyle climbed to his feet. "Restraint is a virtue."

"Ah. Let's hope you remember that tonight."

Doyle eyed him. Bodie gave him his best innocent smile.

Doyle sighed. "It's a wonder you ever made it to adulthood."

"Yet here I am." He led them to the door. "Hey, and I've got a riddle for you."

"Oh, yes? It can't be better than mine."

"Possibly not, but it _will_ come true." He ushered Doyle into the house.

Doyle raised his eyebrows. "Go on. Amaze me."

"Which of Cowley's clichés will you be thinking tonight?"

"Never send a boy on a man's errand—"

Bodie cuffed him. "No."

"I hope it's not moderation in all—"

"No." He heard voices ahead as they walked towards the sitting room.

Doyle looked at him with narrowed eyes. "It had better not involve a bike."

Bodie grinned. "Alas, no."

"I won't give up guessing, you know," Doyle said, as they entered the sitting room.

"I know."

 

*****

 

"Be purposefully unpredictable." Doyle's voice sounded as exhausted as Bodie felt—and as happy.

Bodie kissed the shoulder under his mouth. Someone to care about; someone to care about him. He'd found his home. "Told you it would come true."


	54. Coda to The Untouchables

"Well, this has been lovely, but I am afraid I do have an engagement for tonight." Anna set her empty champagne glass down on a table.

Doyle took one glance at Bodie's face, and turned hastily away. He'd caught the gleam in Anna's eyes. "Family or...?"

"My solicitor, actually." She turned and smiled at Cowley. "He, too, knew my father." She looked around at the three of them, her eyebrows raised. "It is business. But not that kind of business."

Bodie choked. Doyle took his glass away from him.

Cowley set his own glass down. "May I drive you to your engagement?"

"Yes, please. If it isn't out of your way. I can call a cab." She smiled. "I am used to providing for myself."

"No bother at all."

"Then, before we go...." She hesitated. "I would like to speak with Mr Doyle for just a moment. In private."

Doyle raised his own eyebrows, but nodded, and gestured for her to precede him down the hallway that led to one of the bedrooms in the safe house. He could feel Bodie's eyes on him as he walked away—and very likely Cowley's as well.

"I do apologise for the maladroit way I handled that," Anna said to him as he closed the door behind them. "But I did want to speak with you."

"What is it?" He was, he admitted, fascinated by her. In a long career that had introduced him to many different people, he had never met anyone quite like her.

"Well. You've been very...courteous with me, when you didn't need to be."

"We needed you to cooperate with us."

"Yes, but in my line of business we learn to assess a person's sincerity very quickly. At any rate, I feel I owe you."

Doyle drew his brows together. "What—"

"Just a word of—warning, perhaps. Mr Cowley asked me if you had tried...." She gestured towards the bed.

Doyle's stomach tightened, but it wasn't fear he felt. "Did he?"

"Yes. I told him no, of course. But...I thought you should know."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." She tilted her head. "I did wonder, I must admit. I take it you are otherwise engaged?"

"Yes. I am."

"It is refreshing to meet someone for whom that matters." She held out her hand. "Good bye, Mr Doyle."

He clasped her hand, and then raised it to his lips and brushed a kiss against her fingers. "Good bye."

She smiled, and headed back for the living room. His own smile faded. Damn Cowley. He looked up at the ceiling, his hands on his hips, and bit his lip. Anna might think it was a boss checking up on the behaviour of his agent, but Doyle knew better.

_You are on probation. It will not be noted in your records at this time._

Cowley had received the news of their commitment to each other with no outward show of emotion. Yet they both knew he disapproved—although whether it was of their relationship or of the fact that they had brought it close to official notice, Doyle wasn't sure. The regulations on any liaisons—much less homosexual liaisons—were quite clear. It was true that CI5 had more latitude in these matters, as in others. However, for that very reason Cowley had to be especially careful in his use of that latitude. They were on probation—which was perilously close to the very thing they had been trying to avoid: having to prove themselves to Cowley. They could get through it, Doyle thought, but he worried about the toll on Bodie. Bodie's relationship with Cowley was different than his own. It was steeped in the traditions of commander and soldier, with expectations on both sides. Bodie wasn't used to the idea of negotiation. Doyle sighed and started back to the living room, but stopped when he met Bodie in the doorway of the bedroom.

Bodie leaned against the door jamb. "So, did she offer...?"

"What kind of girl do you think she is?"

"A hooker, Doyle. Although, admittedly, above your league."

"Thank you. Have they gone?"

"Yes. So, what did she want, then?"

"Nosy."

"Interested."

He didn't want to tell Bodie. He folded his arms. "It seems Cowley wondered the same thing as you."

"Ah." Bodie straightened, and walked into the room, past Doyle. "Dinner in or...?"

Doyle turned. "It doesn't bother you?"

Bodie glanced at him. "She's hardly a—"

"I meant Cowley."

"No." Bodie turned away, and took off his leather jacket.

"You don't see it as a test?"

"No—or only in the sense that he's surveying the ground." Bodie threw the jacket onto a chair. "He wants to know what our boundaries are."

"How serious we are?"

Bodie nodded. "That too."

_You will have to be reassigned._

_Then we'll leave._

_You're both in agreement on that?_

"If he decides to test us," said Bodie, "It will be far more...real than Anna." He sounded grim.

Doyle looked at him. "We'll manage."

"Yeah." Bodie walked forward. The jumper and cords he wore emphasised the power in his body. "We will. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He was caught without a ready answer. Doyle shrugged. "Like what?"

Bodie smiled. "Like you'd like to have your wicked way with me."

Doyle snorted. "As if you'd protest. Anyway, I was just thinking how annoying you are."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Bodie unbuttoned Doyle's shirt.

"Aren't we supposed to be packing?" Doyle toed his shoes off, then slid his hands under Bodie's jumper, as he'd wanted to do for hours. "I'm sure Cowley—"

"He said we're to turn the keys in tomorrow. That gives us—" Bodie nuzzled Doyle's neck. "Tonight." He pushed Doyle's jacket off his shoulders.

"Oh." Doyle closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His hands drifted down to the clasp on Bodie's cords. "Good."

"Very good. So, why am I annoying?"

Bodie's mouth covered his before he could reply, and Doyle moaned. It had been so bloody long—ever since the op had started. They'd stayed in character, even when they were alone. Bloody Cowley. He cradled Bodie's neck, and kissed him back.

But Bodie pulled away. "There must be a reason."

"For what?"

Bodie grinned, and cupped Doyle's groin. "You know I can get it out of you. You turn on so fast."

"I don't see you far behind." Doyle felt the quiver in Bodie's stomach muscles as he stroked him. "Big bed over there."

"Yes, I noticed that." Bodie took Doyle's hand and tugged him towards the bed. "Bit lonely, was it?"

"Nah—not with all that wild living Cowley's accusing me of." He pulled off his shirt.

"Orgies every night?" Bodie lifted Doyle's t-shirt.

"That's right." Doyle emerged from the t-shirt, and let it drop to the floor. "Very fatiguing."

"Oh, well, if you're too tired, mate...."

Doyle pulled him close. "Can't let my partner down, can I?"

"Ah, there's the team spirit." Bodie caressed Doyle's chest.

"After all, I have to keep you in line—save you from your own folly."

"And you do an excellent job." Bodie pulled off his jumper. "Er, what folly?"

"Terringham's daughter is looking for you."

"The lovely Clare. Fortunately, she won't find me." Bodie caressed Doyle's chest

"Clare. And what are you smiling at?"

"The wonders of experience." Bodie kissed him again, as if he couldn't get enough of him.

Doyle fitted himself against Bodie, and felt his arousal. He swept a hand up and down Bodie's broad back.

Bodie's mouth moved across Doyle's face. "No contest. You ready to tell me why I'm annoying?"

"Persistent bugger." Doyle closed his eyes as Bodie kissed down his neck. A hot tide was rising in him.

"You like that." Bodie unzipped Doyle's jeans. "Come on. Tell me."

"I don't...encourage boasting."

"Aha, and what would I boast about?" His hand wrapped around Doyle's cock. "This?"

"Yeah." Doyle smiled, and he pushed forward, but Bodie suddenly let him go. He opened his eyes.

"Eh, eh, eh." Bodie brushed his fingers over Doyle's nipple. "Tell me first."

"Bastard." Doyle sighed as Bodie's fingers were replaced by his mouth. But all too soon, Bodie pulled back. "Damn you. You were right all these years, that's what I was thinking. Don't stop."

"It'll get better." Bodie's hand slid to Doyle's stomach, and stopped tantalisingly close to his cock. "Right about what?"

Doyle spread his hands on Bodie's chest, absorbing the feel of muscle. Solidity. Strength. "You are so...bloody gorgeous."

Bodie's hand stilled. 'You what?"

Doyle grinned. "I think you've grown on me—like mold."

Bodie nodded. "Mold. Charming." But his smile was wide.

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Nah, incurably modest, that's me."

"Also incurably slow." Doyle bumped against Bodie's hand.

"I think we need to discuss this revelation—" Bodie broke off as Doyle kissed him, and pushed him backwards. They fell on the bed, Doyle on top, their mouths still locked together.

Doyle pressed his advantage, but Bodie pushed Doyle's jeans down, and his hands roamed over Doyle's bum. One of Bodie's thumbs slid under to stroke along Doyle's cock. Doyle gasped, craving more. He shifted to the side, giving Bodie better access to him. Bodie immediately rolled them, and took control of the kiss as well. His tongue filled Doyle's mouth—aggressive, demanding, and unsubtle. Doyle didn't care, the siren lure of Bodie's strength was singing in his blood. He wanted only Bodie's hands, and mouth, and— Agony suddenly shot through Doyle. He cried out, jerking away from Bodie's mouth.

"Christ!" Bodie pulled back . "Dammit, Doyle, you nearly— What's wrong?" Bodie's voice changed on the last words.

Doyle held his jaw, eyes closed tightly. "Tooth." He groaned. "Oh God."

"Your...filling?" Bodie sounded aghast.

Doyle opened an eye to peer at him. "I told you not to hit me there." It felt like the whole right side of his face was pulsing with pain. He sat up and leaned against the headboard. He struggled to get his breathing under control.

Bodie was kneeling now on the bed. "What'll we— There's no dentist open tonight."

Doyle probed the tooth very gingerly. The pain spiked. "Fuck."

"I'll, uh...." Bodie trailed off, and he edged further away from Doyle. "What can I do?"

"Go and see if this place has anything for pain."

"Right." Bodie scrambled off the bed, and left the room.

Doyle shook his head. This was the same man who had efficiently taken care of him after he'd been shot. But when it came to teeth and dentists, Bodie's sang-froid deserted him. Another wave of pain took Doyle's breath away. He'd rather be shot, dammit. His jeans were tight around his thighs, and he eased them off. At least, thank God, it wasn't the weekend. He'd be able to have the filling repaired right away.

Bodie walked back into the room. His face was pale. "They only thing I found was aspirin. And whisky." He hefted a large bottle.

Doyle sighed. "Right. Hand them over."

Bodie handed him the aspirin bottle, but held onto the whisky. "I’ll get a glass," he said, and exited the room again. He returned with two glasses.

Doyle eyed him.

"Well, it's going to be a long night, isn't it?" Bodie poured whisky into both glasses.

"Yes. And you’re going to be here." Doyle accepted the glass Bodie handed him. He took three aspirin tablets in the first swallow.

"Would I run away?" Bodie downed half of the whisky in his glass.

"Like a shot—but you know I'd hunt you down." He regarded Bodie through narrowed eyes. "You're going to be very busy tomorrow."

Bodie's eyes shifted away from his. "Yes, cleaning up this place all on my own."

Doyle just kept looking at him.

Bodie widened his eyes. "And reporting in to Cowley, of course."

Doyle kept his gaze steady.

"And, erm...." Bodie rubbed the side of his nose with a finger. "You don't need me along, do you?" He took a quick swallow of whisky.

"I think you should make an appointment for yourself, while we're at it. This pathological fear you have—"

"I don't need to see a dentist."

"When was the last time—"

"I haven't got any fillings to worry about, have I?"

"Coward."

"Look at the trouble you're in, all because you went to the dentist. Should have just knocked the tooth out in the first place." Bodie's face lit up. "Hey, there's an idea! I could knock—"

"You've done enough knocking as it is." He looked at Bodie. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you coming back to bed?"

Bodie looked dubious.

"It's not catching."

"Yeah, okay." Bodie took off his shoes and climbed onto the bed. "But it is damned inconvenient." Bodie settled on his side, propped on his arm. Doyle opened his mouth, but Bodie put two fingers gently on his lips. "And I know it's my fault, but...."

"Your body hasn't caught on yet." Doyle nudged Bodie with his knee.

"Don't make it worse." Bodie sighed. He put his hand over Doyle's cock.

"No joy. Well, that's one advantage of pain—no blue balls." Doyle touched Bodie's arm. "Look, I could—"

"No. I'll take a wank, if I have to, but—"

"Now, that I would like to see."

Bodie looked up at him, and then he smiled. "You little devil."

"Might take my mind off things."

"You want a show, do you?"

"Yeah." Doyle drew the word out.

"Well, then—" Bodie's stomach growled.

Doyle laughed, and then gasped as his tooth protested, and he slumped on the bed, moaning. He felt Bodie rub his shoulder, and then his glass was taken away and he heard it being refilled. Doyle straightened. "Damn."

"I'm sorry." Bodie handed him the glass. Bodie's hand settled on Doyle's leg. Solid strength.

Doyle took a sip of the whisky. "Maybe later, eh? You have to feed that crater of yours."

"What about you? You've had no dinner."

"Not interested."

"What about soup?"

Doyle shrugged.

"I'll get some. It'll keep."

Doyle nodded, but Bodie didn't move. His hand was wrapped around Doyle's thigh, his eyes lowered. "What is it, Bodie?"

Bodie looked at him. "I'm glad we told Cowley. We'll make it work."

"Yeah."

"I know you think—"

"I trust you."

Bodie nodded. "Through thick or thin, eh?"

"Yes. Which is why you are going with me to the dentist tomorrow."

"Oh, bugger." Bodie buried his head in Doyle's shoulder.

"Aren't you?"

He felt Bodie nod.

"I won't make you hold my hand."

Bodie lifted his head and grinned. "I'd do it just to see you ask."

"Pillock." He threaded his fingers through Bodie's hair. "And if you're very inspiring tonight, and make me forget all about this bloody tooth, I'll return the favour when we get home."

"My own private show?"

"Absolutely."

He swore Bodie's eyes danced. "I knew it was right to hit you with my right."


	55. Coda to The Ojuka Situation

Bodie watched as Cowley escorted Ojuka to the helicopter—now operated by CI5 personnel. Ojuka would be whisked away to his conference while his wife and her fellow conspirators were driven to London. Bodie suspected that already various parties were preparing to argue jurisdiction in the case. At least CI5's involvement with Ojuka was at an end. The government would probably encourage Ojuka to leave the country. Bodie nudged Doyle's shoulder. "Come on, let's put some water on those burns, eh?"

They walked side-by-side into the house and found their way to the kitchen. The house appeared to be deserted, although there had to be staff, agents, and police around somewhere. It was like the lull before the storm. The house would be searched very carefully to help build the case against Avery. The kitchen was large and pleasant, with a table in the centre, and gleaming appliances and cupboards around the edges. Bodie watched as Doyle pushed up his sleeves. The burns were red and shiny, but they hadn't blistered. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Doyle shrugged. "Bruises. Parker had only just got started. For all Parker's bluster, he didn't know what he was doing—fancy using ropes, and not checking for a lighter." He turned toward the sink.

"Yeah." Bodie put his hands into his jacket pockets. "He really ought to have put a bullet in your head at the hotel."

"It would have made more sense. Lucky for me, he didn't try that till later." Doyle glanced around at him. "He killed that receptionist at the hotel. The girl."

"Damn." _So if you don't mind sharing?_ She'd been young and friendly, and they'd brought Parker down on her.

Doyle turned the water on. He put his wrists under the flow, and winced.

Bodie checked for a first aid kit in a few of the cupboards, but found nothing. He stood for a moment beside Doyle, just absorbing his presence. "I'm off to find a first aid kit." Bodie wanted to kiss him, but the sink was in front of a window. He held up a finger. "Ten minutes with that water." Doyle grimaced. "Well, if you will play with fire...." Bodie bumped him with his hip, then turned and headed for the door.

In the hallway, he was surprised to see Cowley approaching from the other direction. "I thought you'd left with Ojuka, sir."

"No, I am coordinating efforts here. It won't take long for the other services to show up—and the locals are ambitious."

"I suppose you can't blame them, given Avery's position."

"Just so. Where's Doyle?"

Bodie felt himself tense, although there was no reason for it. "In the kitchen. He has burns on his wrists."

"Does he need a doctor?"

"I shouldn't think so. Parker worked him over, but it was just the preliminaries."

"Very well." Cowley eyed him. "Walk with me a moment. Outside."

Bodie followed Cowley out of the house. The sun was sinking on a day that had never warmed, despite the sunshine. Sometimes, even the most powerful of sources saw its influence wane. There were more cars parked in front of the house than there had been. The vultures were descending as word got out.

"Is this how it will be, Bodie?" They walked towards the road, away from the parked cars.

 _You disobeyed an order, Bodie. I told you to stay put._ "Yes, sir." His reply was calm, steady. He had no need for excuses or explanations. He remembered the last time Cowley had taken him aside after he'd disobeyed an order because of Doyle: _I expect you to follow my orders. Even the ones you don't like. Even the ones that might lead to your deaths._ But Cowley had also said he wouldn't sacrifice them needlessly. He'd asked them to trust him.

"If your first objective—"

"It isn't, sir. Not always." Bodie stopped walking, and faced Cowley. "I was here. On the ground."

"Field judgement?"

"Yes. Avery's helicopter was ready to take Ojuka away. There was movement out of the house. There was no time to wait."

"And Doyle was—"

"About to be executed. He would have been, if he hadn't freed himself."

Cowley looked at him, then gestured for Bodie to continue with the walk. "You couldn't have known that at the time."

"Doyle factored in my decision to move, sir. But he wasn't the only factor."

Cowley said nothing.

"Trust works best as a two-way street." Bodie held Cowley's gaze.

"A commander must be certain his orders will be obeyed."

"CI5 isn't the military."

Rather to Bodie's surprise, Cowley nodded. "Well, well. You've finally learned that—no doubt from Doyle."

Bodie let a smile into his eyes. "Well you did hope we'd learn from each other when you partnered us."

"And what has Doyle learned from you? Apart from insubordination."

"He didn't need me to teach him that." He took in a breath. "You know what he learned from me—it's why you sent me after him when Diana Molner was killed."

Cowley led them in a turn back towards the house. "Because you are a soldier. And sometimes CI5 _is_ like the military."

"Yes, but that's not why you sent _me_."

_We need agents like Doyle, and his stubborn idealism. He could go far in CI5—both of you could go far. If you manage your vulnerabilities._

"I don't underestimate your influence on Doyle." Cowley's voice was quiet.

"You've used it to your benefit."

"I've used you both—and will again."

"If we stay."

Cowley raised his eyebrows. "I was under the impression you wanted to stay."

"Insubordinate as we are?"

"Och, I'm used to that. It's judgement that matters."

Bodie drew his brows together. "Then why—?" He broke off, and stopped walking. "You knew perfectly well I'd move in, didn't you?"

Cowley glanced at him. "You told me as much." He started again towards the house.

Bodie caught up with him. "You— It was a bloody test."

"Was it?"

Bodie stared at him.

"Ojuka is safe, the villains are captured. Doyle and you are alive. If it was a test, you certainly passed."

"Dammit." He reached out to stop Cowley, but didn't touch him. Cowley turned to face him. They were still out of earshot of the men and women milling around the parked cars. "We can't play games like that, sir. Either you trust us or—"

"Bodie. What is the first thing you do when you acquire a new gun?"

"Test it—" He broke off, then looked at Cowley through narrowed eyes. "We're not new."

"You shifted the alignment." Cowley's voice softened. "I needed to know."

After a pause, he said: "I went for the diversion, not the rescue." He kept his voice low and level.

"Yes."

"Next time—"

Cowley raised his hand. "You made a field decision—the right one—to move in. Other circumstances might lead to other decisions, and there might be consequences from those. But I do trust your judgement."

The tightness in Bodie's stomach didn't ease.

"Your decisions have always been subject to scrutiny—and will continue to be so. As are my own."

After a moment, Bodie nodded. It was a fair warning. Cowley would keep them, and shield them to a certain extent, but they had to find the right balance between their personal needs and those of CI5. "When will our permanent records be altered?"

Cowley resumed the walk. "When I judge it to be the right time." His voice was bland.

"You once talked about a future for us in CI5."

"Aye. You both have skills beyond the field. You've been successful at running ops—and you've enjoyed it."

"But that path is closed to us now."

"One of the lessons I've learned is that things change."

Bodie looked at him. "Not me. Not Doyle."

"You sound very certain. And yet change is inevitable."

He felt cold slither down his spine. "Don't try and sep—"

Cowley held up a hand. "I was talking, Bodie, about the world. Don't go burning bridges, lad—unless they're really after you." They had reached the cars gathered in front of Avery's house. "Well, this has been very enlightening. I expect to see you and Doyle in London tomorrow morning. You will return the hire car you appropriated."

"Emergency situation, sir."

"Yes. You will, of course, pay all appropriate fees."

Bodie sighed. "Yes, sir."

Cowley looked around as a new car arrived. "Ah. The new head of MI6, I believe." A gleam appeared in his eye. "This should prove interesting." He nodded at Bodie, and moved to meet the car as it stopped by the others.

Bodie blew out his cheeks and turned to head into the house.

"Rough time?" Murphy was walking towards him from the direction of the front door.

Bodie managed a shrug. "The usual." The Old Man always did manage to surprise him. He needed time to think about that conversation.

Murphy nodded. "I can imagine. 'Insubordinate' was the nicest of the words he used."

"Ah, got caught in the fallout, did you?"

"I was pretty well trapped, yeah. But you managed to win through in the end—you and Doyle. As usual."

"By the skin of our teeth." He gestured towards the house. "Are they all finished in there?"

"They're just getting started mate." Murphy looked glum. "I've been assigned to watch over them all—for as long as it takes."

"Local police, MI5, MI6—"

Murphy groaned. "MI6? Who's next? Special Branch? There are also a couple of representatives from the Home Office sniffing about officiously."

Bodie patted Murphy's arm. "And all your responsibility, mate. Doyle and I have been told to go back to London, worst luck."

Murphy shook his head. "I should have stayed in the paras."

Bodie grinned, and moved past Murphy towards the house.

"Bodie."

Bodie turned back.

"I, uh—" Murphy looked down for a moment, then straight into Bodie's eyes. "I just wanted to wish you luck. Both of you."

Bodie froze for a moment, then smiled. "Thank you, Murph. We count you a friend."

Murphy nodded, then turned away. Cowley was walking towards them from the cars, accompanied by a short, round man, with a frown on his face. Bodie retreated into the house.

He found Doyle sitting at the kitchen table, eating a cheese and pickle sandwich. "It hasn't been ten minutes, you lazy git." Bodie peered at Doyle's wrists.

"It's well past that—slow-coach. Where's the first aid kit you promised me?"

"Forgot. I don't think you need it, after all." He straightened, and took half of Doyle's sandwich."

"Oi." Doyle tried to slap Bodie's hand, but Bodie eluded him, and took a bite of the sandwich. "I may get away without any blisters at all."

"Ah, good. You'll be back at the violin in no time." He took another large bite. "How are you otherwise?" His voice was muffled.

"Heathen." Doyle tilted his head. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

Bodie smiled as he finished the sandwich. "Is there more? We need sustenance."

Doyle pointed towards the worktop. "Help yourself. And make me another, while you're at it. Then you can tell me why we need sustenance. And it had better _not_ be the job."

Bodie saw bread on the cutting board, cheese, and a jar of pickle nearby. "Perfect." He picked up a knife and sliced the bread.

"Where were you, then?"

"Cowley." He glanced at Doyle. "He was testing us."

"In what way?"

"He told me not to move before he got here."

"Well, I'm jolly glad you did."

"So was he, it turns out." He cut wedges of cheese.

"Oh, yeah? How's that, then?"

"I didn't shoot the lot of them and break down the door to rescue you." Bodie looked at him.

"Ah." Doyle appeared to be thinking. "You shot a few of them." He got up and walked to the refrigerator.

"Only in the line of duty." Bodie turned back to the sandwiches.

"Oh, well, that's all right, then." Doyle carried two bottles of beer back to the table.

"His sentiments exactly." Bodie brought the sandwiches, and settled down in a chair across from Doyle. He reached for one of the bottles of beer. "Well, this makes up nicely for missing breakfast."

Doyle nodded. "What aren't you telling me?"

Bodie swallowed carefully. "What do you mean?" He set the bottle down and picked up a sandwich.

"You don't like being tested."

Bodie shrugged and hid his relief. "I told you before—Cowley's just surveying the ground. He likened it to testing a new alignment on a weapon."

"Charming." Doyle looked at him a little searchingly, and Bodie kept his face bland. He didn't want to get into Cowley's hints about the future. They could take it one day at a time.

"Eat your sandwich, mate—we're off to town as soon as possible."

"You're in a hurry." Doyle bit into his sandwich.

"Ahh, I've got Louise on the boil, haven't I?"

"Have you?"

Bodie looked at him, and smiled. "Oh, yes." He caught a glimpse of Doyle's wrist as he reached for his beer, and sighed. "Pity about the handcuff plan, though."

Doyle eyed him. "Louise, I'm sure can—"

"Who's Louise?" Anson walked into the kitchen, followed by several other men, unknown to him. "I should have known I'd find you two with the food."

"Where'd you spring from?" Bodie asked Anson. The group of men descended on the refrigerator.

"Called in as backup for Murphy. Oi, leave me some of that beer!" He hurried over to the refrigerator.

"Ray Doyle." A man with receding brown hair paused at the table.

Doyle studied him. "Stevens, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Long time since Hendon. I'm in Special Branch now."

"CI5."

"So I see. Your op?"

"Along with my partner. Bodie, meet Stevens. He came second best on a shooting range contest with me when we were both on the force.

Stevens nodded at Bodie. "I'd love a rematch."

"Name the date."

"I'll contact you. I'm the best in Special Branch." Stevens smiled and walked towards the refrigerator.

"Modest, isn't he?" Bodie glanced at Stevens' back.

"Yeah. Always has been." Doyle slanted a look at Bodie. “It was fun beating him.”

"Ah, there’s the Doyle I know. Anyway, speaking of dates—hurry up."

Anson joined them at the table, bottle in hand. "Impatient to get to this Louise? What's she like, Bodie?"

"Very hot; very bad tempered."

"Nah, patience of a saint, I'd say." Doyle grinned at Bodie. "But all right, never let it be said I let a mate down." Doyle stood, his movements a little slow.

"Starting to stiffen up, are you?" Bodie collected their plates and bottles and put them on the worktop. Their chairs were taken by two men who were probably from MI5, judging by the fashion sense. Anson pulled out a cigar.

"Yeah. I'm not relishing the car ride."

"I heard you were taken hostage," Anson said. "All right, mate?" Bodie noticed several of the men glanced Doyle's way.

"Yeah. We won."

Anson toasted him with a bottle. "Should've known better, shouldn't they?"

"Do you always win, Doyle?" That was Stevens. leaning against the worktop, bottle in hand.

"Since he was partnered with me. Home, angelfish?" Bodie touched Doyle's arm in a matey gesture that they both knew meant a great deal more. It all could have gone very wrong.

Doyle rolled his eyes, but he smiled. "Home."

They left the kitchen, and the buzz of conversation behind them. Their shoulders bumped now and again as they walked through the hallway, and out the front door. _Don't go burning bridges, lad._ Bodie's hand tightened by his side. He'd thought the fire had already been set.


	56. Coda to A Man Called Quinn

  
_Not too deep, lad. You don't want to drown them in dirt._ Doyle smiled as he planted the daffodils, working the soil to give it proper aeration, and hearing his granddad's voice. He'd bought plants over the years, but this was the first time he'd deliberately set out to produce something more permanent. It might be just a balcony garden, but it would be a garden. He could hear his granddad snort at the idea, but he would have helped.

"What's all this, then?"

Doyle made sure there was no trace of his smile when he glanced at Bodie. "Got bored waiting for you to wake up."

"Oh, I see." Bodie inspected the box filled with pansies, primulas, and ivy. The hyacinths would go in their own pot. "This is what you went out for, then?"

He'd left Bodie asleep in the bed they'd fallen into after they'd finally got home. Two nights ago, neither of them had slept more than a couple of hours at the safe house. They'd probably both thought Cowley would do a runner. "There are croissants in the kitchen."

"You were up early." Bodie's tone was casual, but Doyle heard the question underneath it.

He concentrated on the daffodils. "Yeah."

Bodie shifted on his feet. "Did you eat breakfast?"

Doyle shrugged.

"Right. I'll be back."

Doyle smiled again as he reached for the hyacinths. It was very like fishing: put out the right kind of bait, wait patiently, hook and reel in. Something had been preoccupying Bodie, and he wanted to know what it was. Direct methods hadn't worked—which meant it probably involved him, one way or another. If Doyle had played the lure right, by now Bodie was more worried about Doyle's state of mind than protecting himself.

The sun was warm on his back as he worked with the hyacinths. It was early spring, and there was no bite to the breeze, only the promise of the new season. They had the day off, and the possibility of tomorrow as well. He fancied a pub lunch by the river.

Bodie appeared in the doorway just as Doyle finished with the pot. "Croissants, and hot coffee, Ray."

"I knew you had your uses." Doyle stood up and stripped off his gloves. He glanced around at his handiwork. "What do you think?"

"it's nice. Cheery."

"It suits me, anyway." He brushed past Bodie in the doorway. "Mind you, this almost certainly means Cowley will move us within the week."

Bodie closed the French windows to the balcony. "Then we'll bring them along. Might as well stare down fate, eh?"

"Oh, is that why you glowered at me when Cowley introduced us?"

"I do not glower. Anyway, it's not like you weren't staring just as much."

"I couldn't believe Cowley had teamed me with a mad ex-SAS maniac." Doyle sat down on the sofa and reached for a croissant. Bodie had heated, sliced and buttered them.

"Yeah, I could see that on your face." Bodie chose the chair across from him.

"Is that why you said all that guff about staying cool?"

Bodie grinned, and picked up a croissant. "We've learned from each other, haven't we?"

"You could say that." Doyle took a restorative sip of coffee. "You never have told me your secret to making coffee."

"Have to keep some of the mystery, don't I?"

"You could tell me about your formative years, your first girlfriend, your gun running days, your—"

"There, you see? Years of conversations ahead of us." Bodie sat back in the chair. "Are you ready to tell me now?"

Doyle widened his eyes. "Tell you what?" He bit into the croissant.

"Doyle. I know you. You do not voluntarily get up at 0-bloody-whatever-it-was to trot down the garden centre and the bakery on our first day off in weeks. You're worrying about something, and you might as well tell me what it is, because you know I'll find out."

Doyle swallowed, and tilted his head. "Oh, yeah? Stubborn, are you?"

"I learnt it from the best. Come on, Ray."

It seemed likely Bodie's problem stemmed from the case. Doyle sighed. "Quinn…." He trailed off, and looked down.

"Cowley didn't twep him."

Doyle stilled, and he didn't allow anything to show on his face. "I know that." He took another bite of croissant, and studied Bodie.

Bodie's eyes narrowed as he looked at Doyle, but he didn't say anything.

"Kraznov rigged the car. Quinn was of no further use to him."

Bodie put his uneaten croissant on the table. "You checked the report?"

Doyle frowned. "No. It was—" He broke off. His stomach tightened, although he didn't know why.

Bodie nodded. "Obvious. Right?"

"Quinn...probably wanted...." He trailed off as he registered the tension radiating from Bodie.

"Yeah, Quinn probably did. I would have preferred a quick death over going back to Repton." Bodie stood, and walked to the balcony door.

Doyle drank more of the coffee, giving himself time to think. "There but for the grace of God, Cowley said." Was it as simple as that?

"Is that what's bothering you?" Bodie spoke to the window. "We're not in Special Forces, or MI6."

"No." Doyle stood as well, and moved closer to Bodie. "But torture isn't limited to the Great Game, is it? We've always lived in the shadow of death or Repton."

Bodie said nothing.

"It's not me who's been brooding. What is it, Bodie? Why does this have you spooked? It's nothing new."

Bodie turned towards him. "Let's get out, Ray. Resign. Now."

Doyle stared at him. "Why? What's the rush? We've always known about the dangers. We can handle them—we've proven that."

Bodie turned and walked away from him into the room. "Things change."

"What the fuck is going on, Bodie?"

"When I joined the mob, it didn't matter, did it? I liked staying in England; I liked the money; I liked what Cowley said about the job. That was enough."

"But?"

Bodie glanced at him. "I'm not like Quinn anymore."

"You never were." _It was a simple choice. Join them or go to the prison. Very few ever came out of that prison._ Bodie's words echoed in his mind—a similar choice Bodie had made long ago. "You would've let them think you'd switched sides—until you got back."

"That's not what I meant." Bodie took in a deep breath. "You saw Quinn's file. What did he have in his life beyond the service? No family. No ties. Nothing to hold him back from giving everything—and that's what he did."

Doyle looked at him. "Okay. You _know_ that goes both ways. But—"

"And what does Cowley have, besides the service?"

"He's got friends. Position." Doyle closed his mouth for a moment. "All right. Yes, he's dedicated his life to CI5—and to the service before that. But what's that got to do—"

"And he cared a lot about Quinn, didn't he?"

"Enough to make our lives difficult."

Bodie nodded. "And yet we both know he would have twepped Quinn, if the circumstances had been slightly different."

Doyle looked away. He heard Bodie moving towards him. He looked up as Bodie stopped right in front of him.

"We ran this op; we were in charge. And we came through with flying colours, didn't we? You enjoyed every bloody minute of being in charge."

"Bodie." He turned away, but Bodie grabbed his arm.

"Didn't you?"

"Yes—so what?" He looked Bodie in the eye. "I'm still choosing you over CI5—and you had bloody well better believe it's the right choice."

Bodie's hand tightened on his arm. "What if it's not a choice?"

"What do you mean?"

"After Ojuka. Cowley talked to me—hinted. Times change, he said. What if we weren't considered a security risk?"

"It's not going to happen."

"Doyle."

"Forget it." Doyle pulled out of Bodie's grip. He walked away a step. "Is this what it was?" He spoke over his shoulder to Bodie. "You thought I'd want to stay—to try—and you don't want that."

"I don't—" He heard Bodie swallow. "I don't want what we'd have to be. What you'd have to be."

Doyle turned to face him. "And what's that?"

"Responsible for compromises, for hard decisions—for people dying."

"We lost a Jameson on this op. We stationed him."

"You know that's not what I mean. Look, I joined CI5 because it suited me. You joined because of the difference you can make. You've always been more like Cow—"

Doyle took a step in, and kissed him to shut him up. "I told you a long time ago: I'm not like Cowley. I'm not giving _this_ up—this trust and responsibility. I'm not changing."

"But you already have." Bodie's tone was bleak.

Doyle felt his breath catch. "How?"

"Quinn. You knew he'd been twepped. You didn't say a word to me. Even when you thought it could have been Cowley."

Doyle held himself very still. In his mind, he heard Bodie's voice after Cowley had killed Manton: _They don't play by your rules Doyle. Maybe the day you learn that is the day you should quit._ "I knew it wasn't Cowley." But he hadn't been outraged; he hadn't questioned it.

"If we move up, we have to make choices like that The service takes everything—especially idealism. There are times I can't read your face any more; times when you remind me of Cowley." Bodie's voice was steady.

"Cowley's an idealist. Roses and lavender."

"His idealism is honed—like a blade. Idealism welded to pragmatism."

"That's you and me, mate. We balance each other. It's a strength." Doyle turned away. He walked to the balcony door, stared at the bright flowers soaking in the sunshine, spreading their roots in new soil. He hadn't thought there was the possibility of a future in CI5. He hadn't really allowed himself to think beyond the A Squad, and the need for Bodie to be with him. What trade-offs would they have to make? Together, they could accomplish so much. Bodie, it seemed, didn't think they should try.

After a little while, Bodie moved in behind him, and slipped an arm around Doyle's waist. Bodie's chin rested on Doyle's shoulder. "All that out there." Doyle felt Bodie nod towards the balcony. "It was a ploy, wasn't it?"

Doyle felt his mouth twitch. "Got it in one." He turned in Bodie's arm and put a hand against Bodie's face. "I knew something was worrying you."

Bodie sighed, then brushed Doyle's hand with his lips. "Reckon it goes with the territory."

"I have to think about this."

Bodie nodded, his expression serious but not troubled. The tension seemed to have eased. "I'm not against the idea. I just want the costs measured."

"Fair enough." Doyle leaned in, and Bodie met him in a kiss that held all the potential they'd had to put on hold last night. "Fancy a pub lunch?" He spoke against Bodie's mouth.

Bodie's hands slid under Doyle's t-shirt. "We have croissants."

"They're cold."

"Could heat them up again." Bodie pushed Doyle's t-shirt up.

"I fancy a pub lunch."

Bodie pulled back a little to look at him, his eyes heavy. "All right." And then he pounced on Doyle's neck, biting and sucking the skin.

"Bo...die!" But the name turned into a moan as desire flashed through Doyle.

"Earn it." Bodie pulled back and looked to be admiring the mark he'd left on Doyle's skin.

Doyle eyed him. "This is pay-back isn't it?"

"Yeah." Bodie grinned, and then he grabbed Doyle's hand and tugged him towards the bedroom. "This time you can wear the polo-neck."

"You always wear polo-necks."

"Because of you I had to change—and that made us late for Cowley. And it nearly cost me a speeding ticket."

Doyle smiled as he remembered. "Yeah," he drew the word out, "but it was fun." His smile widened as he saw the effect his tone of voice had on Bodie.

"So will this be."

"Guaranteed?" They reached the bedroom and stopped, facing each other.

"Absolutely." Bodie took Doyle's t-shirt off. "Positively."

"Didn't you—" Doyle broke off as Bodie's hands moved to Doyle's jeans. "Once...ahh...say you were...God. Engagingly modest?"

"Things change." Bodie whispered the words in Doyle's ear as his fingers played across Doyle's skin.

Doyle shivered, as if he stood in a shadow on a spring day—until Bodie took him into the light.


	57. Coda to No Stone

It was nearly three in the morning by the time Bodie finished and signed his report. He'd left it to the last. Doyle had finished his report some time ago, and Bodie hadn't seen him since. Although Doyle was still in the building, Bodie was certain of that. They'd all stayed at HQ, making sure every detail in the case was wrapped up. They'd followed procedure to the letter. They owed that to Cook and Reynolds, and Harrison from the bomb disposal unit.

Bodie carried his report to Cowley's office. The door was open, but Cowley wasn't in sight. Bodie placed the report on Cowley's desk, and set off in search of Doyle. Paperwork had been an adjustment for him when he'd joined CI5. But he'd found he had a surprising aptitude for it, and far more patience than Doyle, who'd grown to hate paperwork when he was in the police. After an op, it helped to write down exactly what had happened—it brought some order to the chaos of the aftermath. It worked even when the victory felt as hollow as this one.

He found Doyle in the rest room, standing before a table with a box on it. Doyle glanced up as Bodie entered the room, then returned his attention to the envelope he was writing on. They were alone in the room. Doyle put a chain into the envelope, sealed it, and placed it in the box.

"What's all that, then?" Bodie peered into the box, and saw the envelope was addressed to "Danny." Cook's son. Bodie raised his eyes to Doyle's.

"Cowley asked me to clean out his desk and locker. June called. She wants the box in the morning." Doyle's tone was flat.

Bodie tightened his lips, then sighed. "Yeah, well, you knew him best."

"Yeah." Doyle folded the flaps on the box to close it. "And I dragged him into this mob."

"It didn't take much of a drag—just the lure of money."

Doyle looked at him, eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bodie folded his arms. "It was his choice to join, and he did it for his own reasons."

Doyle met Bodie's gaze, then looked at the box. "I know."

"June blamed you, did she?"

Doyle shrugged. "Only to be expected, I suppose. I wish Cowley hadn't sent me." He hefted the box into his arms and headed for the door.

"That was your test." Bodie gave him a nod when Doyle turned his head towards him. "Like mine with Ojuka." He opened the door for Doyle.

Doyle didn't move. "Fuck. You think so?"

"He's never sent an agent to inform a family before, has he? Why else?"

"Because I knew Brian." Doyle went through the doorway and strode down the hallway. "Damn Cowley."

Bodie followed Doyle to Cowley's office. There was still no sign of Cowley. Doyle put the box next to Cowley's desk, then turned to Bodie. "June thinks I talked him into joining CI5. Called me a bastard. Said it was all right for me—I haven't got anyone depending on me." He looked up at the ceiling. "She said I can go on playing cowboys for the rest of my 'bloody, miserable, selfish life'".

"Oh, well, that's all right, then. Glad you've got permission."

Doyle lowered his chin, and Bodie was relieved to see a slight smile.. "Yeah, takes a weight off, that does."

Bodie touched him on the shoulder. "I depend on you."

"Of course you do." Doyle was still smiling, but Bodie saw the tension in him.

"Come on," he said. "I've got something for you." He led the way to the door.

"What?" Doyle didn't move.

"Do you want to stay in Cowley's office all night?"

Doyle followed him. "What?"

"Don't you trust me, Raymond?"

"I'm still recovering from the so-called dinner you brought me at midnight."

"You try to find food, even in Central London, at midnight."

"Oh, you thought that was food, did you?"

"Did you eat it?"

"Yes."

"Then it was food." Bodie led him to the locker room.

"I've seen this place before." Doyle looked around. "And if you think we're going to have a little tryst...."

Bodie rolled his eyes, opened his locker, pulled out Doyle's bike leathers, and threw them at him.

Doyle caught them, then looked at Bodie. "You brought the bike."

"With dinner, yeah." He held out Doyle's helmet.

Doyle took it. His gaze flickered over Bodie. "Where's yours?"

Bodie smiled, and warmth eased his own lingering tension from the op. He took his gear from the locker. They dressed and headed for the car park. His Capri was parked next to the bike. They'd used Doyle's car for the past two days.

Doyle swung onto the bike. "Insurance?" He gestured towards the Capri.

"Always have a backup plan." Bodie settled behind Doyle on the bike.

Doyle looked over his shoulder at him. "That's me."

He wanted to kiss him. Instead, he lifted his helmet. "Let's go, Doyle."

"I am going to go very fast."

"Your ticket." Bodie strapped on his helmet.

Doyle's smile said, as clearly as if he'd spoken: they'll have to catch me first. Doyle put on his helmet and started the engine.

Bodie wrapped his arms around Doyle as they left the car park. Doyle drove with with an apparent eye to the speed limits while they were in town, but as soon as they reached the motorway, he opened it up. There was a nearly full moon, a clear sky, and a light breeze. Bodie leaned against Doyle's support, and paid no attention to their direction. It didn't matter; nothing mattered but this moment. He surrendered himself to it, emptying his mind of all but the awareness of Doyle, becoming one with him on the bike. All he needed—all he'd ever need—was here.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt a marked decrease in speed. They had left the motorway some time ago, and had sped along A roads, twisting through the countryside. He lifted his head as Doyle steered into a layby. It overlooked a valley, and Bodie saw lights in the distance—a village winding through the valley, but nowhere near them. It was quiet and dark in the layby, although the moon and the motorcycle lamp provided some illumination.

Doyle settled the bike, then pulled off his helmet. Bodie followed suit, and stretched his legs to the ground behind Doyle's. Doyle was looking out towards the valley, and Bodie felt the tension in Doyle still, despite the ride. "What are you thinking?" Bodie kept his voice quiet.

Doyle shrugged. "They haven't a clue—some of them down there, in their tidy little houses. Not a clue what the world could be like—what our world is like."

"Cowley would say that's thanks to us."

"Yeah. But others.... In some of those houses a man could be hitting his wife, a woman could be tormenting her child. Betrayal, death, violence—it happens everywhere." Doyle climbed off the bike and walked away, towards the fence that marked the edge of the bluff they were on.

Bodie followed him, and leaned on the fence next to Doyle. He didn't say anything, just stood close beside him.

"What turns a Judy Wynans into Ulrike Herzl? She was a child once, like the ones she might have killed with her bombs."

"You know there's no answer to that. It just is. She made a choice somewhere along the line."

"Somewhere along the line. Or choices were made that affected her—all leading to this moment, and this outcome." Bodie heard Doyle breathe in. "And what choices led us to stand against her? Although the things we do hardly put us on the side of the angels."

Bodie turned his head towards him. "Ray—"

"You said it before—about that thin line and choices. All those years ago, that kid I knifed—I could have killed him."

"You didn't."

Doyle glanced at him. "I told you I wanted into CI5 because the line was clearer. But it wasn't just for that." He paused. "Do you know how satisfying it was to hit Paul Coogan?"

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment. "You didn't kill him."

"I've killed others."

"in the line of duty."

"I've got off on it."

"A fact for which I've been grateful."

"Bodie—" Doyle's tone was sharp, unamused.

"What do you want me to say Ray, eh? Are you trying to draw a parallel between Ulrike and us? Because you know that won't fly. We kill, but we don't blow up innocents."

"June called us cowboys."

"Yeah, well, June was wrong." Bodie sighed. "Christ, you wouldn't be opening old wounds if June was right, and you know it. Okay, we like the excitement, the adrenaline high. And sometimes we feel more alive when we kill. Does it matter? We've channelled that into something good. We're needed. Maybe our reasons for joining were better than Cook's."

"He wasn't a killer."

"No." And he hadn't lasted long.

Doyle stared out towards the village, or maybe towards the darkness surrounding it. "How close are we to being Tommy, then?" The bleakness in Doyle's tone cut right through Bodie.

"We're not. Maybe I could have become like him once, but I've changed." He touched Doyle's face for a moment. "You never were."

Doyle's voice was low. "There are times when I—" He cut off his words. "When I was in hospital, after I was shot. I remember thinking I hadn't cared enough—about those boys, about anything. If I don't care, what's to stop me from...?"

"I will."

Doyle looked at him.

"Just like you stopped me. The time I came closest to it was when I had King Billy in a headlock. I nearly lost you because of that. We're a balance for each other, Ray."

Doyle was quiet for a long time. "What would you do without me?"

Bodie swallowed. "Survive. Or not. I don't know."

Doyle looked out again towards the valley. "I never thought you'd stay, you know. In CI5. I always thought you'd leave one day. Resign."

"So did I, when I joined."

"And that night—after Preston. I knew you'd never stay with me."

Bodie looked up into the sky. There was a faint trace of light to the east. "I've changed." He could remember the man he'd been when he joined CI5; he never wanted to be him again.

"I tried to push you away."

Bodie brought his gaze back to Doyle. "I told you I've learned to be stubborn."

"Thank God." Doyle turned so he was facing Bodie. "We made choices—right and wrong—and here we are. What's our next choice, Bodie?"

He was still for a moment, and then he gave in to temptation: "Well, I'm not making love to you in a layby, so put that out of your head."

He caught a glimpse of teeth as Doyle grinned. "Coward."

"I've got very sensitive skin." He moved in close to Doyle, and took his face in his hands. "We're staying in CI5, Ray." He felt the sudden resistance as Doyle pulled back. Bodie held him a moment longer, then let him go.

Doyle took a step away from him. "You wanted out not that long ago."

"I was wrong."

Doyle was silent.

"We're the best—and it's not just at the killing. You came up with the idea to trick Ulrike. I saw the weakness in Lawson's plan. It's the whole package with us." He gestured towards the village. "We're needed."

"You said the cost was too high."

"Cook paid the highest cost, didn't he? Along with June and Danny. Reynolds and Harrison. Matheson and King. Williams."

"Lake." Doyle moved back close to Bodie.

Bodie nodded. "That receptionist at the hotel. We couldn't save her, but we can save others."

"If we can stay on that bloody thin line."

Bodie stroked Doyle's cheekbone, drawn as ever to the imperfect beauty of him. "And that's what I left out in my reckoning."

"What?"

"You and me."

_One wrong choice._

_No. I won't let it happen._

_What's to stop me?_

_I will._

Doyle turned his head, and kissed the palm of Bodie's hand. "You watch my back, and I watch yours." His voice sounded rough.

"We've been doing it from that first day. You called me a mercenary; I called you a copper. We'll never be like Tommy, nor Cowley."

"Just us."

Bodie nodded, and let his hand fall. "Do you know, I never thought you'd want...who I was. Even if I'd changed." The man he still could be, in a bleak future.

"The man who would kill for revenge?"

"And take joy in it." _And then, to save you the pleasure of spending the rest of your miserable life in gaol, I'm going to do the same for you, with great joy._ "Without you." Bodie whispered the words.

Doyle cupped Bodie's face with his hand. Bodie could feel the calluses from Doyle's gun, but his touch was gentle. "Our balance. I'll always come after you."

_You come after me. I stay for you._

After a moment, when Bodie was certain his voice could be trusted, he grinned. "Are you promising to haunt me, Doyle?"

"Every step of the way." Doyle leaned in and kissed him, a thorough and lingering kiss. It wasn't a prelude to passion, but it pierced Bodie's heart with the sweetest mix of pleasure and pain. To have this, he'd sacrifice everything; to hold it, he'd have to risk everything. Doyle pulled back. "Come on, let's find some breakfast." Doyle turned and headed for the bike.

Bodie followed. "We've only got a few years left on the A Squad."

Doyle nodded, and handed Bodie his helmet. "And then we'll see what Cowley's plan is." He looked Bodie in the eye. "That future you were talking about the other day might not happen."

"Then we'll find another way to help." Bodie took the helmet. "It's who we are, sunshine."

"Fools?" Doyle picked up his own helmet.

"In love. Yeah." Bodie strapped on his helmet, and saw Doyle doing the same. But Doyle didn't climb onto the bike. Bodie tilted his head and reached for the strap of the helmet, wondering if there was more Doyle needed to say. But then he saw that Doyle was gesturing for him to get on first—for him to take the driver's position.

He felt a jolt of pleasure, almost as if Doyle had touched him. Bloody hell. He grinned, and swung onto the bike before Doyle changed his mind. A few moments later, he felt Doyle climb on behind him, and Doyle's arms around him, holding him tightly. Bodie started the engine, moved the bike off its stand and onto the road. He leaned forward as he accelerated, and Doyle went with him. Every shift in position was followed by Doyle, as if they were working in tandem; as if they were sweeping a room. He relaxed into the familiar teamwork that was his world. He drove east along the A road, heading back to London. The road took them higher, winding to the crest of the hill, and finally they came out onto a plain, and found dawn before them. The sun's rays spread across the land, turning grass and leaf to a brilliant hue of green. There was moisture in the air and on the ground, and the wind was cold, despite the strength of the sun. But he had Doyle's warmth against his back. He took one hand off the bike handle, and placed it briefly on top of Doyle's—just a touch; a promise. Doyle's arms gave him a reply: promise for promise.

Bodie smiled, and the night's shadow fled before him. He drove straight into morning, into spring, with Doyle.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Great Global Pros Watch of 2008/2009 on LJ. Except for breaks between series, and around Christmas, this involved writing one Coda per week. From February 2008 through May 2009.


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